Dragon's Core
by AlkaneMetal
Summary: After rescuing Fred Weasley from a provocative Veela, and awarded a subliminal peck to the lips in turn -Corin Oblansk, a student from a distant school, is unnerved as she is chosen to place her name in the Goblet of Fire found at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. How will Corin receive the matter of romance while dragons, Death Eaters, and Veelas are at large?
1. Chapter 1- The Game

**Chapter One  
The Game**

Fields upon fields of tents lay, clustered alongside hundreds of thousands of bodies- all of which eagerly awaiting the same singular event. An event where history was sure to be recorded. A battle of two teams, Bulgaria versus Ireland. Thousands gathered over a span of two weeks to witness the Quidditch World Cup that was to take place this evening.  
But among all those who gathered, none were as brash and as loud as this particular group. Consisting entirely of teenagers, this assemblage shared similar apparel of brightly coloured loose pants and long skirts, clinking gold jewelry and silk adorning scarves. The group of six- three boys and three girls, crowded around the outside of a square tent, shouting to each other in a foreign language –each competing to be the loudest.  
Corin heaved a sigh from where she sat –surrounded by the rowdy group. Her Uncle had unwittingly given her far too many tickets to the event –in which she had handed them off to her school friend, who, in turn gave the tickets to a group of travelling gypsies. To be fair, she hadn't been expecting an invite to travel with the group –swept up in the prospect of escaping the Carpathian Mountains –where her overbearing father and capricious mother secluded her for the entirety of her childhood –Corin had immediately accepted the invitation to travel.  
She had enjoyed the summer travelling with this band of estranged teenagers –so much so that she was currently weighed down with the knowledge that this was her last night with the group, before her Uncle would take her home on his way back to Bulgaria.

A hand lay on her shoulder –interrupting her in the middle of her brooding. Corin glanced up from where she had been staring down at her lap, absentmindedly fiddling with her silken shoulder-wrap. Stefan –her school friend, blinked down at her with his large brown eyes, his thick, dark brows furrowed in agitation.  
"Corin –Aventis and I searched everywhere for wood piles, but the idiot can't read a map for shit, and he won't give it to me," Stefan spoke in heavily accented English, as to ensure that his insults would go over the others' heads, "Let's ask someone where the wood is."  
She fought a smile at Stefan's cantankerous attitude, and allowed him to tug her up from where she was seated. Clasping her hand in his own, Stefan all but dragged her to the nearest campsite of Englishmen. Corin briefly admired the drastic contrast between his bronzed skin and her own milky-white flesh –attributed to the lifetime she spent in the thick mountain clouds, in which no sun could breach.

"Excuse me," Stefan approached an Englishman, a tall man –although equal in height to Stefan –with receding ginger hair and horn-rimmed frames. "Do you know where the wood is?"  
But the man merely blinked, unable to understand Stefan's rough English. "Sorry?"  
Stefan heaved a sigh, and turned a look back at Corin. The message was clear on his face, and all Stefan had to do was mutter her name helplessly before she stepped up to the plate.  
Corin pulled her hand from Stefan's tightening grip, and smiled up at the man, "Er –hi, we're from the camp next to yours, the uh, the loud one." She shrugged helplessly, "my friend and I were wondering if you knew where the wood piles are?"  
"Oh," the confusion melted off of the man's face at her explanation. "Oh, yes of course –my sons can show you, if you'd like." Distractedly, he called to the family clustered around the fire, "Fred! George! –Come here!"  
He smiled kindly at the pair, "Two of my boys look to be about the same age as you –sixteen, right?"  
"Seventeen," Corin corrected, "And Stefan is eighteen."  
"Ah yes, my name is Arthur by the way," Arthur introduced, his ever permanent smile widening, "Arthur Weasley –and these are two of my sons, Fred and George."  
Arthur gestured to the two identical red-heads as they appeared –Corin blinked at the pair in surprise, never had she seen twins more alike, down to every last strand of red hair.  
"Stefan Nikolov," Stefan spoke again, extending his hand over top of Corin's head to shake the man's hand, "and this is the most esteemed Corin Oblansk."  
Unperturbed by Stefan's formal introduction, Corin extended her hand in turn, shaking Arthur's hand –as she withdrew, Fred –or George, as Corin was unable to tell the difference –snatched up her hand, and lay a fresh kiss on her palm. "What a pleasure!-"  
The second brother stole her hand, and pecked it as well, "-to meet you!"  
"Boys," Arthur chided, sighing. "Can you help these two find where the wood piles are kept?"  
"Might as well," said one, crossing his arms behind his head and sighing, "Percy keeps blathering on about his duties to ol' Fudge. George and I were tempted to shove a toffee into his mouth and watch him gag on his tongue if he didn't can it." Corin quickly noted that Fred was the one who wore a red jumper –while it was George who adorned the green jumper.  
"Didn't your mother already confiscate those? –Oh, blast it," Arthur sighed, waving the boys off, "Get to it, then."

Corin shot a look up to Stefan's face, surprised to see that his face was undisturbed and already settled into his customary frown. She was quite unused to sibling conflict, being an only child herself –but Stefan came from a large family, consisting of several older brothers, and two younger sisters. Knowing this, he was probably used to the disgruntlement between families.  
Corin and Stefan followed after the two brothers, making their way between tents, witches and wizards alike.

"So, which school do you lot go to?" questioned George, brushing invisible lint off his knitted jumper.  
"Durmstrang," Corin replied breezily, she brushed off Stefan's prodding hand as it attempted to hold her own. "I'll take it from your accents that you live around here? –Meaning you must attend Hogwarts."  
"Oi, look at you," teased Fred, "planning to be a detective?"  
George eyed the pair as Stefan attempted to place a protective arm around her. "I figured Durmstrang was an all-boys school."  
"It is not," Stefan grumbled out, crossing his arms over his chest as his affections were refused yet again, "Although the male count outnumbers the females, it is still a mixed school."  
Both the twins' faces creased as they struggled to interpret Stefan's words –Stefan shot Corin a helpless look, and she quietly translated what Stefan had said.  
"You're pretty good at English, how's that?" George questioned. They had just broken past the line of tents and people, stepping in through the scarcely forested area and to a nearby wooden shed.  
Corin shrugged carelessly, piling lumber into her arms. "I live in the Carpathian Mountains –that's Romania, by the way. Nearby is the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary –often the tamers will come by and ask for burn treatments, as my father is a Healer. The Englishmen will speak to me and make conversation."  
"Our brother Charlie works there!" Fred exclaimed, looking fascinated. "Have you met him?  
Corin became thoughtful, thinking back to the handful of men who have visited her father, "Does he have red hair also?"  
Nodding, Fred added, "What's it like living near Dragons?"  
"You get used to the noise after a while," Corin replied thoughtfully. She snapped her fingers as she remembered, "Yes, I might've spoken to your brother once before –although often my father sends me away when he is treating his patients."  
"Rightfully so," Stefan muttered in his home-tongue, "Dragon-boys are only looking for one thing."  
Corin flushed, grateful that the pair could not understand Stefan's snarling insults.

Collecting enough wood, the four made their way back into the encampment, parting at the twins' campsite.  
"Thank you for your help," Corin offered a rare smile.  
"Anything for a lovely lady," Fred winked, grinning in a lecherous fashion.  
"Feel free to stop by again," George responded, raising his hand in farewell as Corin and Stefan parted with the wood.

* * *

Corin was cursed –she was sure of it. Nearly sprinting, Corin flew up the carpeted stairs, nearly tripping on the hem of her silk wrap. Nearing the Top Box, she slowed her pace –fumbling to make herself presentable. She carefully smoothed out the gold trim that lined the bust of her well-fitted robe, and layered the silk wrap over her exposed shoulders. For the event, she had drawn her hair back, fixed in place by a carmine red _broboadă.  
_By the time Corin had reached the Top Box, she had missed the opening ceremonies –quite out of breath, and growing increasingly flustered –_although she hid it well_ –she took her seat beside her Uncle, who greeted her with a pinch to her reddened cheeks. Edgily, she brushed away his hands, greeting the man with a slight nod. From her well-worn purse, she had drawn out two pairs of Omnioculars. A disproportioned thump was heard within the beaten purse, followed by the sound of glass shattering. Corin muttered a curse in her native tongue, and handed off one of the Omnioculars to her Uncle –who accepted it, with a murmur of thanks and a cautious look thrown to the purse that lay in her lap.  
Corin was given little time to observe the match as a bellow of greeting met her ears.

"Ah, the youthful Miss. Corin Obalonsk – Ob –Oblan-"  
"Oblansk," Corin corrected with a falsetto laugh. The British Minister of Magic –whom she had met on several occasions while attending friendly conferences with her Uncle.  
"Cornelius Fudge," she greeted the man warmly, allowing him to eagerly shake her hand. "How have you been?"  
"Fine, thank you. And yourself? I trust your studies are well?" Fudge responded stiffly, his eyes flickering around the Top Box distractedly. Fudge was a portly man, his grey hair severely rumpled from beneath his green bowler hat –it seemed he was far more concerned about political relationships rather than the actual game itself.  
"So I've heard that you were interested in a political career once you've graduated," he carried on, without bothering to wait for her reply.  
Corin was far from surprised that he was aware of her interest –it was well-known, and almost expected that the niece of the Bulgarian Minister of Magic had a fascination for politics. Admittedly, she was unsure where her future lay –not that she would bother to tell _him_ that.  
"I am," she agreed. Fudge's eyes fixed on her intently, pleased with her response. "I've been considering a transfer to your faction soon after I graduate –if you'll have me, of course."  
"Most definitely, I'll have the paperwork sorted as shortly as I can," Fudge replied smoothly. Corin wondered briefly if she had dug her own grave.

"Ah –I'm embarrassed to ask this –but perhaps you could translate in place of Barty Crouch? It seems he has yet to arrive, and I'm afraid I can't speak Bulgarian." Fudge glanced nervously to an open seat, before returning his gaze to her.  
Corin's brows creased for only a fraction of a second –her Uncle had nudged her heeled foot with the side of his boot, although he gave no indication of doing so, avidly staring through his Omnioculars.  
"I'm sorry," she began truthfully, "but I don't speak Bulgarian either."  
Fudge stared at her in absolute bewilderment, "Bu-But he's your Uncle!" he sputtered.  
"It's a stiff relationship," she confessed, shrugging. "My father never bothered to teach me the language."  
Fudge sighed, "It was a long shot anyway –anyhow, have you been introduced to Lucius yet?"  
Drawn by his name, the pale-haired man who was seated before them turned, gazing coldly up at the pair.

"Ah," the man, Lucius remarked loftily, "the Bulgarian Minister's niece, I suspect? Better late than never, I suppose."  
Corin took an immediate disliking to the man, but offered her hand downwards nonetheless.  
"Lucius Malfoy," announced Fudge, "as well as his beautiful wife Narcissa, and charming son Draco. –Lucius is employed under me, and has donated much to the Ministry of Magic. He is here as my guest."  
"A pleasure," Lucius took Corin's hand, brushing his thin lips over her knuckles. "A peck to the hand is a typical Romanian greeting, is it not?"  
Corin observed the man with cool, grey eyes, "Reserved only for close friends and lovers."  
"Forgive me," said Lucius softly, peering through his pale blonde lashes. He drew back from her hand as though it had burned him. "My son, Draco –"Lucius shoved the boy's head around to face her, "say hello Draco."  
The boy muttered a brief greeting, appearing entirely disinterested.  
"Draco is a few years shy of your age, Miss. Oblansk. Perhaps the pair of you will chat after the match is completed?"  
"Perhaps," Corin replied evasively. Pleased with her answer, Lucius turned his head forwards, back to the game just as one of the Irish players scored, tearing a roar of cheers to ignite the stadium.  
To her left, her Uncle muttered a curse, gripping the end of his robe and looking as though he might tear the fabric.

"Ah yes –who else? Oh –perhaps you've heard of Harry Potter?" Fudge swept a hand to a young boy, seated to their far right, Harry Potter was seat in between a young girl and boy.  
"Only in books," Corin replied honestly, eyeing the dark haired boy, who gawked at the game in absolute fascination. "Perhaps it's best to let him watch the match."  
"I suppose," Fudge agreed, although he gave the impression that he was uncertain of her reasoning. Fudge gazed around the Top Box, "Have you met Arthur Weasley?"

At his name, the Englishman from before gazed towards the pair –his expression flickered to something of confusion. He stood, starting towards the pair.  
"Hello again," Arthur greeted her.  
"You've met?" Fudge remarked with some surprise, "wonderful –Arthur, this is Corin Oblansk, niece of the Bulgarian Minister."  
Corin smiled up at the man, "Thanks again for your help –"Corin addressed Fudge, "Arthur and his sons helped a friend and I retrieve lumber."  
"How kind," Fudge exclaimed.  
A pleased flushed worked its way up Arthur's neck and he nervously ran a hand across his head. "_Oblansk _–I should have recognised that name."

Quite suddenly, a ginger-haired man leapt up from his chair, tripping over a set of legs and bowing so deeply his nose scrapped the floor, his horn-rimmed glasses slipping from his nose. "F-Forgive me!" the man all but shouted, retrieving his frames from the floor with an embarrassed flush.  
"This is my son, Percy," Arthur introduced with a bemused expression as Percy vigorously shook her hand with both of his own.  
"It's truly a pleasure, Madam!" Percy exclaimed, stammering in his excitement.

"Oi! Perce, out of the-"  
A familiar bellow met her ears. It appeared that the set of legs Percy had tripped over belonged to Fred Weasley. Fred beamed excitedly, "Blimey, Corin, I didn't know you were famous –Oi, George! Look here –Corin's at the Top Box too!"  
"Boys," Arthur chastised quietly, as Corin murmured embarrassingly. "This is the Bulgarian Minister's niece."  
"Bloody hell," Fred exclaimed again, shoving Percy aside. "You should have told us!"  
Corin fought a blush, forcing her face to remain inexpressive. "I'm not famous –simply well-known," Corin muttered with a stutter, "We've all come here to watch a game, shall we?"

* * *

**Next chapter will be arriving soon.**

**I do not own Harry Potter.**

**-AL**


	2. Chapter 2- The Veela and the Ginger

**Chapter Two  
The Veela and the Ginger**

The match had ended miserably for the Bulgarian supporters, who had lost by a mere ten points, ending with Bulgaria earning one hundred-and-sixty points, while Ireland won with one hundred-and-seventy points.  
The Bulgarian Seeker Viktor Krum had secured the snitch after being struck in the face by a Bludger.

"Well, we fought bravely," her Uncle sighed gloomily. He had abandoned all pretenses, allowing his head to fall to the side, resting his head affectionately on top of Corin's.  
"You can speak English!" Fudge exclaimed in outrage. "And you've been letting me mime everything all day!"  
"Well, it was very funny," her Uncle shrugged. Corin fought a laugh.  
She stood alongside her Uncle and The Minister as the Top Box lit up magically –enabling the entire stadium to watch the display. Fudge accepted the World Cup from two panting wizards, appearing remarkably disgruntled by his counterpart's trickery.

_"Let's have a really loud hand for today's gallant losers –Bulgaria!" _announced the commentator, with his magically magnified voice. Applause rang out across the entire stadium –And, one by one, the seven Bulgarian Quidditch players lined up to shake hands with the Bulgarian Minister, followed by Fudge, and lastly Corin.  
The commentator listed each of the players' names as they shook hands, and finally, Viktor Krum, at the end of the line took Corin's hand. He looked worse for wear, with two blooming black eyes, his nose bleeding profusely after being struck by a Bludger, and refused any aid from the Med-Wizards. Corin couldn't help but feel concerned for the man –although her concern lessened as he awkwardly stooped and layered a bloody kiss on her knuckles.  
Corin fought a grimace; and by the disconcerted expression on Viktor Krum's face as he realised the bloody mess he had left behind, she pitied him even greater. Surely the media would butcher the poor Seeker for his choice to end the match, and to have bled over the Minister's niece.  
In an attempt to smooth over Krum's mistake, Corin removed the _broboadă_ from her head and swiped the blood from off her hand –leaning over the row of seats that separated them, and pressed the red cloth to Krum's nose. He accepted the headscarf gratefully –moving over for the Irish players to take their turn in shaking her hand, Krum vanished down the steps, his thick brows contorted.

"You did well," her Uncle assured her upon seeing Corin's unnervingly blank expression. Her Uncle tugged on her mahogany curls, a light smile playing across his coarse face.  
"Thanks," Corin muttered in undertone, feeling remarkably better.  
"You'll stay the night then?" Her Uncle turned a curious look down at her, "then meet me the Leaky Cauldron, yeah?"  
"Sure," Corin agreed steadily, "Probably early morning –and I'll be bringing Stefan –ah, one of my friends."  
"Fine, fine." Her Uncle swept a look to the stadium, "be careful; I'll be seeing you."

And, with little regard for anyone, her Uncle turned on the spot and Disapparated.  
Corin masked a smile, making her way down the set of purple carpeted stairs –swept up by the flood of the crowd within seconds.

* * *

Corin returned to the tent quite unnoticed. She escaped into the tent with relief, taking the time to pack for her leave undisturbed.  
Collecting discarded sweaters and shower caps from the tent, Corin packed away the items into her battered purse. Corin was fitting the last of her toiletries into the purse as one of her travel partners slipped in to the tent.

"Leaving?"  
Corin glanced up, smiling sadly. "Tomorrow morning, Stefan and I will be leaving early. So I'm afraid we won't be saying goodbye."  
"Damn," Nicolette heaved a heavy sigh, collapsing on her bed roll beside Corin's. "Thank you for travelling with us."  
"Thanks for inviting me," Corin responded in turn. She had become fond of the estranged group, despite many of their unethical traits.  
Nicolette rolled onto her side, fishing through her satchel and revealing a very plain bottle. "Here," Nicolette extended the bottle towards her. "Straight honeycomb whiskey –from me to you, in thanks."  
Corin accepted the bottle in surprise. Nicolette was known to be rather stingy when it came to giving alcohol –so the gift was entirely unexpected.  
"I'll drink it when the night is full," Corin vowed. Nicolette grinned widely –pushing up from the bedroll, Nicolette vanished from the tent without another word.  
Corin watched as Nicolette's black ponytail whipped out of sight and allowed a small smile to push across her face. Corin shrugged off her shoulder wrap, carefully wrapping the wine bottle with it –Corin tucked it away in her purse, silently declaring to savor the rare gift.

* * *

Corin was roused a few hours later by Deirdre shaking her shoulder. Corin groggily rose, having the sense to snatch up her purse and the sweater she used as a pillow before Deirdre had dragged her up and out of the tent.  
The cool evening air woke her with a start –immediately, Corin became aware that something was wrong.

It seemed that the night was on fire –screams emerging from the throats of man, woman, and child filled the humid air. Corin could hardly see beyond the smoggy screen and rushing bodies. Drunken yells and jeers seemed to be drawing closer –Corin looked on in horror as numerous robed wizards set fire to tents, throwing witches and wizards aside with blasts of their wands.  
It was a scene unlike any other –the group of masked wizards barred down harder –and, removed from conviction, Corin felt her wand hand moving on its own accord. Clenching her wand between her fingers, Corin broke through the flock of people –drawing a fiery line on the charred grass before the masked wizards. The line hissed with a golden hue, and sparked with an energy so alive, one would be far from surprised if it had reared up and lunged. The first of the cloaked wizards to cross the line were thrown backwards with the energy and the sound of a canon being fired.  
Pleased with the result, Corin raised her wand again –her attack easily was nullified as she was shoved forwards, a hand laying between the blades of her shoulders and pushing. She stumbled, thrown off balance and side-stepped by a Ministry Official, donning a pin-striped suit with his wand pinched between his fingers.

"Get outta here, kid!" the Official barked over the sound of the barrier throwing back the masked wizards' spells. "This is no place for you to be sticking your nose in –head to the woods with every other sensible person!"  
Without waiting for her retort, the Official hurried off. And Corin watched as his muscular back disappeared into the muck of clashing wizards.

Corin pressed her lips together and turned on her heel. With little regard for her heeled shoes, she sprinted away from the scene, vanishing into the heavy thicket of trees.  
It seemed that many witches and wizards had Disapparated from the grounds entirely. The woods were almost quiet, save for shouts in the distance and frightened sniffles –which echoed brokenly in the vicinity.

"H-hey, are you okay?"  
Corin followed the sniffles further into the trees, before she came upon a hollowed stump. Inside a small girl, hardly older than thirteen sat there, her legs drawn up to her chest.  
Corin crouched at the lip of the stump, offering the girl a rare crooked grin.  
"Nice hiding spot," Corin complimented, "although it doesn't look too cosy."

Among the wet leaves, the girl shivered. She was dressed only in a dressing gown, with a just a thin jacket to cover her. Noting this, Corin shrugged off her sweater, and forced it over the girl's head.  
"Come on then, let's find someone you know," Corin encouraged with a thick sigh. A feeling of relief fluttered in her chest as the girl managed a grin, and stood from her hiding spot.

"You were at the Top Box too –and you shook hands with all the players," the girl noted aloud, doing nothing to hide her envious gaze.  
Corin shrugged carelessly. "It wasn't _that_ great," she replied honestly, "their hands were sweaty, and on top of that they reeked of body odor."  
The girl laughed. "I'm Ginny Weasley," she introduced, "and I already know who you are, Percy wouldn't shut up about you all evening."  
Corin suppressed a smile, eyeing the girl's stark red hair, "I should have known."

Corin paused rather suddenly, listening intently. To the far West, screams and bangs alarmingly similar to gunfire could still be heard. She grimaced, and turned towards the opposite direction.  
"Let's head East," she offered, "we'll find your father or one of your brothers –maybe one of my travel partners if we're lucky."  
"That's weird," Ginny remarked as the pair set off, stumbling through the thick brush away from the chaos.  
"Hm?"  
"You said 'travel partners,' are they not your friends?" Ginny gazed condescendingly up at Corin.  
Corin shrugged, hardly feeling the need to explain the complexities of business-like relationships to the girl, but was relieved that the girl's mind was so easily drawn off of the terror that had just been witnessed.  
The pair followed a roughly beaten trail, wary of any wildlife that may have found shelter in these trees from the chaos just as they. The air seemed dead, heavy with putrid smoke and humidity. Corin found herself taking more breaths than normal, as a lungful of the thick plumes didn't seem to contain enough oxygen. Minutes had passed, and they found that the trees were becoming less densely packed, and the air seemed to weigh less. But still, the ashen smell lingered.

"Over there!" Ginny exclaimed suddenly, pointing towards a silvery light at the end of the trail. Corin quickened her pace, layering a shielding hand overtop the younger girl's elbow. Corin noted with some relief that the sound of voices were growing louder in volume as they neared the clearing.  
They broke past the trees, startled to find that nearly all of those clustered together were arguing, shouting over top each other's voices in an attempt to attract the attention of a beautiful Veela.  
Corin heaved a sigh, annoyance plain in her sharp features as she muttered in her native-tongue, _"And Papa said that only the most stupid of men fell for a pretty face."  
_Ginny swiveled her head to frown up at Corin, "What'd you say? What language is that?"  
"Romanian," Corin announced curtly. "Do you see anyone you know here?"  
Ginny scrutinized the crowd, eyeing the faces of men. She stood on her toes to see past the outer shell of men –Corin's squared shoulders fell, relief flooding in the pit of her chest as Ginny's face lit up.

"Over there! Right next to the Veela –it's Fred and George!" Ginny exclaimed, looking 'round at Corin. "What do we do? They're totally caught up by her."  
But Corin was already fishing around in her purse, elbow-deep, Corin blindly retrieved two sets of earplugs. Corin jammed the earplugs into her jean pocket, and shrugged off the leather jacket she adorned. She settled the jacket around Ginny's shoulders, and gingerly drew her ginger hair from under the collar.  
"You're still shivering," Corin remarked upon seeing the girl's look of question. With a careful glance back at the crowd, Corin drew Ginny aside, "You have you're wand, yeah?"  
When Ginny nodded, Corin proceeded, "Then stay right here, don't talk to anyone, and don't move. I'll be right back with your brothers –and I'll be leaving my purse here in case anyone's got light fingers in that crowd. So don't go fishing through it, I broke some glass earlier and I don't know whether it was a potion or a mirror –could be dangerous. I'll be back soon, yeah?"  
"Okay," Ginny nodded, accepting the purse as it was handed to her. Ginny nearly dropped it in surprise –as the purse was much heavier than expected.  
"Don't be afraid to stun someone if they get too close."  
Without another look back at the girl, Corin dove into the crowd. Pushing past mainly men –unsurprised that a few shoved back. The silvery light that attracted them before appeared to be emitting from the Veela, which intensified as Corin drew nearer.

"I'm a Troll trainer, y'see! Best in the business –nearly lost my leg, but you should see the Troll!"  
"-No way, you work at the front desk for Wiz' Business Inc. But _I_ play for the Canaries!"  
"I won the lottery last week! That's how I bought the tickets for the game!"

Corin rolled her eyes skywards at the false exclamations –she sincerely doubted that a Troll Trainer had both his eyes; that a Quidditch Canaries player was a fat, fifty-year old man; and that the man dressed in shabby one-piece pajamas had won the lottery.  
Veelas were traditionally common near Romania –beautiful country, beautiful women. Corin was far too used to the women to be taken aback by the silvery blond hair, and the perfectly sized features. Although being familiar to the women did not combat the urge to shoo the Veela away like a common house-hold fly.

"Fred! George!" Corin exclaimed overtop the shouts of others. Her yell did nothing to break the two teenagers from their reverie. Both Fred and George –as well as the other men, held a glossy look to their eyes. An odd bemusement, seeming unaware that they were spouting off such atrocious lies.  
Corin took to George first, as he was the closest to her. From her pocket, Corin retrieved two of the earplugs, awkwardly jamming them into George's ears. The bemusement seemed to fade somewhat, although he still stared, open-mouthed at the Veela. Corin swore she saw a bead of drool poking over the corner of his lip.  
She took George's elbow, and gently tugged him away from the woman. The silvery light around the woman receded and ebbed away as Corin drew George over to the edge of the clearing where Ginny sat –tucked up in Corin's sweater and jacket, George's eyes cleared, consciousness restoring.

"Bloody hell," George groaned as Corin deposited him next to his sister. George rubbed the bruise blossoming on his jawline, brows furrowed in confusion. "What happened?"  
"Veela," Corin muttered unhelpfully, she was stooped over Ginny, tentatively prodding her red toes. "Your toes are going to fall off! Hold on, let me get you some socks –blimey, why didn't you bring shoes?"  
Ginny ignored Corin as she searched through her purse, "George you idiot! You left me!"  
George grimaced, looking guilty, "Sorry, Gin. I didn't-"  
"I'm going to tell mum," Ginny decided, crossing her arms as a look of horror flashed across George's beaten face. Quite suddenly, Ginny yelped –Corin had forced a pair of woolen socks over Ginny's feet, and the instant heat brought pin-pricks to her frozen toes.  
Corin stood, satisfied that Ginny was now sufficiently covered against the late night chill. "I'm going to get Fred," she announced, "stay here you two."

Corin re-entered the cluster of swooning men, dodging flying elbows, fists and feet. She skillfully avoided being swept up in a tussle by jealous men and women with the stealth, and agility of a trained combatant. Corin spotted the back of Fred's flaming red head, and hurried towards him –as she did a flying arm met her shoulder. She stumbled –the ear pieces fell from her pocket, and were trampled by a man wearing a woman's dressing gown.  
Corin groaned, and stared helplessly at the back of Fred's head. Plucking some nerve, Corin dove into the innermost circle, where Fred had woven himself. She ducked beneath a man's legs, and drew herself up in front of Fred. Although Corin was above the average height of most women, the top of her head barely tickled Fred's chin. But her willowy stature was enough to block the Veela from sight. Fred's eyes cleared somewhat, just as George's had –but not nearly enough for Corin to move Fred safely without him potentially objecting violently. Corin reached up, and clasped her hands over his ears, muting the Veela's invisible song by just a little.  
But his eyes were still too vacant, and Corin gazed hopelessly up at his freckled face. So, she stood on her toes, her increased height enabling them to reach eye-level.

"Fred," she demanded strongly –unable to hear with her hands pressed to his ears, Fred's eyes fell to read her lips.  
"Fred," she repeated, "Fred Weasley –look at me, only me. No one else. Just me. Got that?"  
Fred nodded vaguely, his eyes rising from her lips to her pale grey eyes. Slowly, Corin pressed forwards –and without the use of her hands, she was unable to push him. Her body pressed against his, forcing him backwards.  
Corin couldn't help but flush with embarrassment, a very noticeable blush crawled up her fair flesh –she could see it in her reflection in his glassy eyes. Ignoring her mortification, she pressed on, breaking past the innermost circle –in seconds their places were filled, and the wall of bodies shielded the Veela from view.  
Corin exhaled in relief –although she was wary to remove her hands from his ears, in fear that he would fling himself back into the circle. Corin turned her gaze back to his face –noting that his eyes were steadily losing their glassy presence, sharpening with every second. She was sure that if they were able to make it past the crowd of faceless, irrelevant men Fred would be entirely freed from the Veela's grasp.  
Once more, she pressed on –although this time he refused to yield. And, to her complete and utter surprise, his hand flew to her chin –raising her face, and in one fatal swoop, he touched his lips to hers.

* * *

**A.N.**

**So a _broboadă _is a a bandanna commonly worn by Romanian women to cover their hair. Also, I've purchased a self-help book to improve my writing, so chapters may take longer to be uploaded -but as a result, chapters will be much longer.  
****Luckily it's summer, so I'll have more time to complete this story -therefore, more time to revise and edit, meaning a better story.  
**

**Thanks for reading ~ the next chapter will be out shortly, as I've already begun on it.**

**I do not own Harry Potter.**

**-AL**


	3. Chapter 3- The Burden of Domestic Houses

**Chapter Three  
The Burden of Domestic Households**

A kiss.  
The shock of Fred's sudden affections wore away –Corin felt herself drawing back reflexively, as she did Fred's hand fell from her chin. She sunk down from standing on her toes, her lips parted in shock and she stared up at him. With a single brush of the lips he had side-stepped the barrier she had created.  
She blinked. Once. Twice.  
She regarded Fred, slowly rebuilding her characteristic atmosphere of nonchalance. Fred stared back at her, watching her face for her reaction. It seemed the kiss had entirely drawn him from the Veela's capturing song. With surprising ease, Corin removed her hands from his ears.  
Visually calm, Corin gestured for him to follow her –he did so with a catlike grin, remaining at her heels in the midst of the crowd. Corin did not trust her voice –afraid if she spoke her trembling voice would reveal her nerves.

"Oi! Ginny!" Fred exclaimed suddenly, his voice had taken on a mocking-lit. "George, mate –what'd she do? Threaten to tell mum about the firecrackers you have hidden in your stockings?"  
George was looking oddly pale, he stood adjacent to Ginny –who possessed a hardy scowl, her arms crossed over her chest in a motherly fashion. "You left me! If it weren't for Corin I'd be left out there to die of hypothermia!"  
Fred's face creased guiltily –he cast a grateful look to Corin, and opened his mouth to speak-

"Fred –George, thank God, Ginny!" a sudden call drew their attention.  
Two remarkably tall men- Arthur Weasley and a younger, ginger-haired man –presumably another Weasley brother, ran towards the cluster of teenagers, relief mingling across their faces.  
"We're Percy and Bill? And the others?"  
Arthur exchanged a look with his son, "Percy and Bill are with Ron, Harry and Hermione. They're back at the tent. How are you lot?"  
"Bit cold," Ginny remarked bitterly.  
Arthur turned a look to Corin, his face creasing into something similar to a smile. "Seems we're running into each other alarmingly often."  
Corin's face softened and she gave a casual shrug. Arthur gestured to the man at his side, who was eyeing her as though he thought her familiar. "This is my son Charlie."  
"Dragon-boy," Corin remarked, noting the scars and the burns marring his arms. She visibly eyed a long burned located on his forearm, "You ought to see my Papa once you get back to work." Charlie grinned good-naturedly, eyeing her remarkably fair flesh, "Dweller-girl."  
"Look at that," Fred gave a wide grin, "you two've already got pet names for each other."  
"Technically they're insults," Charlie corrected, at his family's looks of confusion he hastened to explain, "Wizards who live up in the mountain have always had prejudice against the trainers who brought Dragons up into the mountains."  
The edges of Corin's lips raised a tad, "My family has no problem with the Dragons –"  
**_"It's dangerous here! Where the hell have you been?" _**A low growl had cut her off, within the instant two large hands had violently seized her by the shoulders, roughly yanking Corin round to face him. Stefan seethed, muttering vile curses in Romanian; his thick, black brows were furrowed to the point where they left ugly creases across his face, his jaw set and teeth bared. His fingers were digging into her bony shoulders, no doubt leaving bruises.  
"_Calm down," _she responded in Romanian, her hands smoothed over his, loosening their grip. "_I already know it's dangerous, I was helping."_  
_"Have you seen it?"_ Stefan demanded gruffly, he dropped her shoulders and irritably ran his calloused fingers through his long tresses, pulling it from his ponytail. Corin's face creased with worry –only when Stefan was truly stressed did he fiddle with his hair –typically he paid little attention to his hair, drawing it back only while working.  
"_Seen what?"_ Corin's voice had taken an anxious lit to it. _"Those masked men? Who are they?"  
_Stefan tossed a look at the Weasley family –Arthur had stepped forward and extended an arm when Stefan had grabbed her. Stefan inhaled sharply, turning his glare from the family, _"Those were Death Eaters. –Although they're gone now, after-"Stefan_ paused, and swallowed thickly, _"after the Dark Mark was cast."_  
Charlie –who was familiar with their language, spoke up. "Some Ministry Officials have dispersed it –we have no idea who cast it yet."  
Corin murmured a curse –she and Stefan shared a concerned look. Stefan nodded skywards, signalling that it was time to take their leave. _  
"Do you have your things?" _Corin inquired softly. Stefan patted the satchel hanging over his shoulder, _"Only what I had time for before Aventis shoved us all out. No point in going back to check for the rest, considering the tent was on fire last I checked."_  
Solemnly, Corin turned to the Weasley family, and announced in English, "It is time for Stefan and I to return home –thank you for your company, Weasley family."  
"Your things!-"Ginny exclaimed, hastily shrugging off the leather jacket. Corin accepted the jacket, but waved away the sweater.  
"Keep it," Corin mused the girl's hair, smiling kindly. "It's still pretty cold out."  
The rest of the Weasley's bid her farewell –Arthur by shaking her hand, Fred and George had both given her friendly grins –Fred had winked, and joked, "Percy's going to throw a fit now that all of us got to send you off."  
Charlie had taken her aside and muttered quietly in her ear, "I'll be returning to work soon –and when I do I have a little invoice for you, payment for helping out here."  
Corin became instantly curious, and had nodded eagerly. "See you then-"and to the rest she spoke in a louder tone, "Farewell –it was a pleasure to have met you all –ah Stefan?"  
Stefan merely took her hand, and muttered a gruff, _"Ja."_

They turned on the spot –Corin felt the familiar tug of side-long Apparition, her chest tightened and Corin felt herself clinging harder to Stefan as her breath was stolen from her.  
In the next second, the pair dropped down onto a rocky cliff. Instantly, Corin was overwhelmed by the piny scent –she inhaled sharply, her eyelids fluttering shut at the familiar smell of home. –It had been past two when they had left England- here the sun was slowly rising, filling the early morning with a welcoming warmth. –It was a rare sight to see the sun, as Corin's home lay on one of the many tall peaks of the Carpathian Mountains and was often submerged by dense fog.

"Wait –my Uncle was supposed to bring me home!" Corin realised suddenly, she dropped Stefan's arm, her expression that of horror.  
"I've already sent him a letter," Stefan reassured her. He ran a hand across the stubble protruding along his chin and cheeks, frowning subtly. "It looks as if your father is up –I wonder why he hasn't come to greet us."  
Corin followed his gaze up to the stone cottage that was her home. The chimney protruding from the sloping roof was spouting out rings of multi-coloured smoke –evidence that her father was attempting to heat the house, he often allowed the house to grow cold late in the night. Corin had developed a habit of wearing sweaters and thick pants to bed.

"Let's go see him then," Corin remarked cheerfully. She began up the stone steps with a vigorous pace –Stefan followed after her his strides much slower.  
Corin reached the door –peering through the patterned glass, she could just barely make out the silhouette of her father puttering around in the kitchen.  
With a quiet inhale, Corin shoved open the heavy door and cried out, "Papa! I'm home!"  
A man with unbridled black hair, which fell over the crooked rectangular frames he adorned, making the man appear much younger than his thirty-nine years. He shushed her –but gathered her up in his arms and layering scratchy kisses across the top of her head.

"Papa," she scolded him lightly, "you've lost weight –did you and Mama have a fight again?"  
At the mention of her mother, his grin lessened. Her father shook his head, and settled her firmly on the floor. "No, nothing like that –ah Stefan!" he greeted the man as he crossed into the house through the ajar door.  
"Roman," Stefan greeted gruffly, although his brows were no longer furrowed in their customary frown. "You're well?"  
"As well as I can be," Roman responded evasively. Extending his hand, Roman layered it over the side of Stefan's face. Roman squinted up at the man through his rectangular frames, his expression became concerned –"Is everything all right? I expected you lot much later –and where's my brother?"  
Corin hesitated, she shared a look with Stefan –who gazed back at her with a leveled expression. They both knew how easily Roman was worried –and how often his empathy made him ill with stress.

"Uncle had some business to attend to," Corin lied swiftly, "so Stefan and I went ahead early."  
"Oh, is that all?" Roman removed his hand from Stefan's face, and clapped his shoulder. "I must be reading too much into it –anyway, Corin, can you tell me why you have gauze wrapped around your arm?"  
"Eh?" Corin blinked, her face flickered guiltily. Her eyes fell to the slight bulging of her forearm, concealed by her long-sleeved shirt.  
"I –er –got a tattoo," Corin confessed, she tugged up the sleeve of her shirt to reveal the slightly bloody gauze. Roman regarded her for a moment, "When did you get it?"  
"A day before the World Cup," Corin muttered. Roman eyed the bandage, his expression alarmingly blank. Suddenly he turned his back to her, addressing Stefan.  
"So –Stefan, boy, tell me where you've gone while Corin goes to change her bandage." Roman had crossed his arms, plainly ignoring his daughter.  
Corin cringed, slipping from the kitchen and down the hall. She stopped at the washroom, and peeled back the bloody bandage. There she washed off the dried, and flaking blood. The tattoo was already beginning to peel –a positive sign, as she had been informed by her tattoo artist. She admired the glittering black scales, still damp from water –the tail end curled up and around her arm and to her elbow –the tail resting on the soft flesh of the inner bend, Corin remembered how easily the soft skin had indented and stung a burning red as the needle had pressed into it. The head of the dragon lay on her inner wrist, with the wings folded back. She ran her fingers along the tattoo, admiring it for a moment longer.

"_Corin?"_ a soft called roused her attention. Swiftly, Corin yanked the sleeve over her tattoo and tossed the bandage. She followed the voice to the Master bedroom, peeking through the partially ajar door.  
The woman who lay on the bed was not her mother –or rather, not the woman Corin had left behind at the beginning of summer. Before, the woman's fair skin emitted a healthy, pinkish glow, her cheeks were full and her wrists didn't look as if they could be snapped in two. Now, it appeared that woman had withered away –her cheeks hollow and the skin that clung to it was a sickly sallow colour. The once glorious golden sheets of voluminous hair now hung dankly past her shoulder in dry, straw-like strands.  
"Mama?" Corin exclaimed softly.  
The woman turned her eyes from the window, the vacant look she possessed vanished as she took in her daughter. "Yes, yes I know," she murmured comfortingly. She extended a bony hand and beckoned her forth. Corin felt herself moving forwards, as if strung by a string. She hardly felt the slight throb as her knees struck the bedframe, and she toppled forward onto the bed. Instantly, her mother's hands flew to Corin's hair, gently working her long fingers through the knots. Corin was comforted by the familiar action, and felt the knot in her chest unravel.  
"I've gotten a letter from your school," her mother murmured. "It appears that you've been chosen by your Headmaster to enter your name in the Triwizard Tournament."  
"_What?"_ Corin gasped. She threw a wild look up at her mother, who smiled down at her calmly. There was a hint of pride in that smile.  
"You heard me," her mother responded lightly, she removed her fingers from Corin's hair, and scooped up a sheet of crisp, white paper. Corin accepted the paper, and scanned it quickly. –Indeed, it appeared that the article was genuine, as her Headmaster's signature lay at the very end of the paper.  
Corin muttered obscenely to herself, and lay the paper disbelievingly in her lap. She gazed down at in, setting her jaw.  
"You can refuse," her mother reminded her, misinterpreting Corin's expression.  
"No," Corin shook her head, "I want to go –it –it's a great honour to receive this chance." With shaking hands, Corin tucked the paper back into the startling scarlet envelope it had arrived in, and sealed it with the wax christened with her school's symbol.  
"It is," Corin's mother agreed, her gaze flickered out the window briefly before returning to Corin. "We won't be able to tell your father."  
Corin nodded solemnly. The two women were all too aware of Roman's insistent worries –so much so, that he was no longer allowed to the read the newspaper after an attempt to adopt twenty-some Puffeskins after the office of the rescue operation had suffered a Floo Network miss-wiring, resulting in a small explosion that left the entire building grappling.

"_So_, will you let me see that tattoo your father was muttering about while he was hovering obsessively outside the washroom door?" her mother bared the briefest smile, extending a bony hand expectantly.  
Corin gently tugged up her sleeve, exposing the tattoo and laying her wrist in her mother's grasp. Corin had learned long ago, as a child, that it was nearly impossible to keep things from her mother –and lying only led to her mother discovering the truth, leading to more trouble than what would have come if Corin had simply fessed up.

"_That_ is gorgeous," her mother murmured, running a long finger along the length of Corin's right forearm. "Why a dragon?"  
Corin felt the heat of a blush rise, it was embarrassing for her to admit it –especially just on the verge of adulthood. "A little piece of home wherever I go."  
"How nice," her mother replied distantly. Her mother gazed down at the tattoo with a vacant look, she seemed to be speaking more to herself than to Corin, "It's not a piece of jewelry to be lost –nor easily disposed of as a sheet of cloth, to be ripped and torn. _It's part of the flesh, gorgeous…-_"  
Her mother flashed a look up suddenly, clearing her throat and smiling reassuringly. "I like it –although it would have been smart to wait until you've finished school. Your Headmaster will be appalled."  
"Like he's one to talk –he has his own markings to worry about, you know." Corin muttered sourly. It was well-known among the students of Durmstrang that their current Headmaster has had a _less than formidable _past.  
"I'm all too aware," her mother exposed a larger grin. She turned a look to the window, and raised her faded brows. "Perhaps you should bid your friend goodbye?"  
"Stefan," Corin followed her mother's gaze. The man waited outside the house, his hands deep within his pockets as he gazed at the mountain scenery.  
"Wish him well for me," her mother delicately rolled on her side, exhaling tiredly. She nudged the red envelope towards Corin, and her eyes fluttered shut. She seemed to fall asleep in that moment, her laboured breaths settled, becoming evenly paced and calm.

Corin took the scarlet envelope, and quietly moved from her mother's room. With the door left partially ajar, Corin slipped from the house without worry of her father's gaze on her back. She met Stefan, who regarded her with his customary frown.

"Roman's nearly hysterical," Stefan warned her, reaching out a clasping her cheek as she stepped within arm's length. "And I bet I've told the man all I could about our trip without exposing more of the lecherous details."  
"Oh quit," Corin's lips allowed a grin, and she leaned into the man's palm –seeking comfort she knew could only be asked from him.  
Stefan noticed this, and his brows furrowed deeper with concern. "What's wrong? Did something happen?"  
Corin extended the envelope wordlessly. Stefan accepted it, his hand sliding from her cheek as he did. Unable to bear the absence of comfort, Corin stepped closer, and lay her head on his chest –her fingers scrambled for purchase against the fur of his coat. Over her shoulder, Stefan cast a cautious look up at the cottage –he hooked an arm around her middle and drew them behind a nearby rock, safe from her father's worried gaze.  
Stefan drew the crisp paper from the scarlet envelope, and turned his eyes down at it.

The envelope and letter fluttered down at their feet a moment later. Stefan seemed frozen in place, gazing down at the envelope in utter revulsion.  
"I've already accepted," Corin muttered tearfully. Briefly, she wondered if she had made a mistake –but cast the idea aside. She had been chosen, and it would be a dishonour if she had refused.  
"Stupid girl," Stefan muttered. And then he was holding her –tightly, as though re-piecing the parts that had shattered. He said nothing more –even as the front of his coat became dampened, and her quivers weakened with her resolve.  
It seemed an hour before Corin had finally drawn away. Her eyes dry and her normally pallid cheeks flushed pink. Her head felt heavy –and the fatigue from the restless night weighed down on her.  
"You'd better see your family," Corin murmured, breaking the hour-long silence. "They'll be worried."  
"Not likely," Stefan replied, he ran his large hand through his hair, his eyes suspiciously pink. Stefan reached forward, and brushed aside a strand of hair that had stuck to her parted lips. He looked as though he wanted to kiss her –but thought better of it, and pushed back her hair and layered a kiss on her exposed brow.  
"I'll see you soon," he muttered.  
Corin touched the place where he had kissed –an odd sign of affection, as he often only held her hand or tossed an arm over her shoulders. "Thanks. See you then."  
Stefan gave her one last piercing look, and turned on the spot. He vanished with a loud crack –and suddenly, the world seemed far too quiet.

* * *

Cool grey eyes snapped open and alive as a roar of a dragon was heard within the distance. It was as if the fire of the dragon itself had touched her. The eyes were bemused at first, startled –wide with fear, before they narrowed with realisation.  
Corin sat up in bed –her head thundering. Corin released the letter, which she had crumpled in her fist during her disturbed sleep. She rubbed her temples, in an attempt to ease the pounding-.  
_That wasn't her head._  
Corin tossed a look to her window, where a black bird was insistently fluttering outside of –knocking its head against the glass. The bird was a rook –a descendant of a crow –and the common messenger bird that the people around the Carpathian Mountains used. Corin stumbled from her bed, nearly tripping on the bed sheets as she hastened to open the latch on her window.  
The bird flew in, dropped something similar in size to a pellet into her outstretched hands before settling onto her shoulder, and pulling at a strand of her dark hair. Immediately, Corin knew from the bird's ill-mannered behaviour that it belonged to Stefan.  
Corin ignored the bird pulling at her hair, and looked down at the parcel it had dropped into her hands. Typical of Stefan, there was no note, instead, all that he had given her was a wax stamp, with their school's symbol pressed into it.  
Her head spun violently –she sat heavily down onto her bed. Guilty at her own relief, Corin shoved the bit of wax onto her bedside table, and took a calming breath.  
_So Stefan was chosen too._

A tentative knock sounded at her door –her mother, bundled up in what seemed to be four haphazardly matched jumpers –no doubt in an attempt to compensate and disguise her lost weight.  
"Everything all right?" her mother inquired, eyeing Corin's chaotic appearance. "I've got something for you –quickly now, before your father comes to fetch me."  
Her mother slipped into the room, extending her right hand. "Look, see here?"  
Slightly wary by her mother's suspicious actions, Corin hesitantly took her mother's hand, staring down at it blankly.  
"Fourth finger, it's slipped up to the knuckle. Touch there –quickly." Her mother insisted in a hurried whisper.  
Corin brushed her own finger along the length of her mother's –and it appeared right before her eyes. A dragon made of tarnished gold loosely encircled her mother's finger, the mouth of the dragon and its hind claws captured a dull green stone.  
"There, you see… I've got a dragon of my own," her mother murmured, slipping off the ring. "Partial concealment charm. It's passed along through the women of my family, a-and although my magic has withered away, I'm still able to hold it. Although not for much longer." Her mother blinked rapidly, and slipped it onto Corin's fourth finger. "You'll be able to pass it along to your daughter, and so on. This ring's been with my family for centuries, and every time its passed along the previous holder puts an new enchantment on it –they're many magical properties, but that's for you to discover."  
"Mama," Corin whispered back –her father could be heard calling her mother's name, searching for her. "Why are you telling me this now?"  
"You're clever, dear." Her mother dismissed her question, and plowed on in a quieter, more hurried tone. "Now this is a bloodstone –to make the ring yours you've got to prick your finger and –"  
"Oh there you are!" the door was shoved open with a loud _bang_. The two women jumped apart, both smiling in an inconspicuous manner. The furrow of worry on Roman's brow dispersed, and he settled easily in through the doorway.

"What're you two ladies giggling about?" he inquired, collecting his wife by her frail arm.  
"She's asking me to get her a dress robe," the older woman shrugged. "Anyway –we're off to collect your school things. Hard to believe you've only got this year left."  
"I can take the eighth year for extra credits, like Stefan." Corin informed the couple, "although I haven't decided whether I want to or not."  
"You've got the whole school year to decide," Roman reminded her. "Well, we're off –and it looks as though you've got a letter Corin."  
Roman gestured to the window, were a tawny owl perched. The owl caught Corin's gaze, and fluttered onto the opposite shoulder where the rook was perched. The rook gave an indignant squawk and gave one sharp tug to Corin's head and flew off –a prize of mahogany hair between its beak.  
"See you then," Corin muttered distractedly, extracting the letter from the owl's leg and watched as it flew off through the open window.

Corin opened the letter as her parents vanished with a loud _crack._ The letter was short, and appeared hastily scribbled by the ink blots dotting the paper.

**_Addressed to Corin Oblansk  
Carpathian Mountains, Negoiu Peak, Romania_**

_**As promised, I wanted to provide you intel as payment for aiding Fred, George and Ginny. It is unfortunate that I will be returning to work much later than expected and unable to tell you in person. And I had heard from others that Durmstrang Institute begins much earlier than other schools. So instead I've chosen to write you a letter. I hope that this reaches the right address.**_  
_**Concerning the Triwizard Tournament, as I'm sure you've already been informed of –being the Bulgarian Minister's niece you must have some connections after all. The first task involves collecting a Golden Egg from the protective clutch of a mother Dragon. Being near the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary, I'm sure you're well aware of the dangers that hatching mothers possess.**_  
_**I'll receive your thanks in November.**_

_**-Thanks again, Charles Weasley.**_

"Bloody hell," Corin muttered, folding up the letter. She made a note to research Dragon weaknesses later. Corin set aside the letter, and stared down at the ring her mother had gifted her. She felt overwhelmed by the mass amounts of information she had learned in such a short period. Corin focused on the task at hand –for whatever reason, it seemed important to her mother that Corin claimed the ring. Following her mother's command, Corin jabbed the end of her thumb, allowing a bead of blood to form at her finger tip. She stared down at the ring –unsure how to proceed. Her mother did say it was a bloodstone…  
Corin shrugged to herself, and swept the bloody fingertip over the stone. The reaction was instant –the bloodstone shone an alarming scarlet colour. The dragon of the ring seemed to come alive –coiling around Corin's fourth finger, again and again. It tightened to the extent where it was no longer loose and fit perfectly. Corin gazed at it in wonder as the scarlet glow of the stone no longer shone. Before, the stone was a dull green but now it was a near black colour, glimmering with the barest hue of red. The dragon no longer appeared aged, as the gold of the ring had renewed, a glittered as though it had just been crafted.  
"Centuries of enchantments," Corin hummed to herself, peering down at the ring with curious gray eyes. "I wonder…"

* * *

**A.N.:  
Hello again! As promised, a better and much longer chapter. Four thousand, four hundred and sixty-nine letters. It took longer than expected, but I'm entirely satisfied with this chapter.  
As you should know the Negoiu Peak is the second tallest peak of the Carpathian Mountains -I figured that it was best to place Corin's family home on the second highest peak, rather than the highest peak, you know, traffic and all that.  
And I've done a long of thinking -but I believe that there will be a sequel to this story. Probably taking place in the end of the sixth book and the seventh book.**

**Anyway, regarding this book -I'm looking forward to what lies ahead. Stay tuned!**

**I do not own Harry Potter.**

**-AL**


	4. Chapter 4- Birds of Prey

**Chapter Four  
Birds of Prey**

"You'll be good, understand?"

Corin groaned openly as her father progressed with the yearly counsel he gave her at the beginning of every school year.  
"I'll be fine, Papa," she dismissed him. "This may as well be my last year."  
"You don't plan to attend your eighth year?" Stefan expressed with some surprise. Corin shrugged carelessly –she required only seven years, what good would an eighth be?  
"You're not there, so I imagine I'd be far too lonely." Corin confessed. In truth, she had very few people she could call friends. Although she was friendly with nearly everyone, there were only a handful of people she was genuinely close to. Corin could say with sureness that Stefan was her best friend _–even if Corin couldn't help but cringe at the corniness._  
Stefan pigheadedly turned his unshaven chin away, seemingly too embarrassed to retort scathingly.  
"Speaking of which," Roman scowled at Stefan openly, "Corin, you shouldn't let boys affect your education."  
"I wouldn't be able to keep up with my studies if it weren't for him," she defended, crossing her arms stubbornly. The pair had grown up together, as Stefan was the only person close to her age in the nearest Wizarding village located at the base of the mountain. Just as the Mountain People and the Dragon Trainers despised each other –the people of the mountains and those in the small villages below shared a certain disgruntlement for each other. As a child, Corin was often dismissed as a nuisance while attempting to befriend the other children –only Stefan had begrudgingly accepted her. Corin suspected this was because Stefan was the black sheep of his family – with several older brothers, all who had grown up by the time Stefan was born, and two younger sisters –whom were too young to connect with at the time. On top of Stefan's wild appearance –never once allowing his mother to give him a formidable haircut –Stefan refused all his parents' attempts and pleas to take on a respectable livelihood. He was further alienated when he befriended a _"Dweller Girl," _as his parents named her, and became the only Nikolov child to be accepted into Durmstrang.  
Because of his estrangement, it was no surprise that his parents were absent in seeing the two students off.

It appeared that Roman had also noticed this –as he was seen muttering to himself. Corin could catch brief phrases like, _"I can't believe they didn't show;" "It's his last year!" _and to Corin's mother, _"Should we go fetch them?"_ To which her mother impatiently replied, _"Quiet, dear. You know they do this every year…"_  
Drawing Stefan aside, and tossing a cautious look to her father, Corin quizzed him in whispers, "Do your parents know about the tournament?"  
Stefan shrugged carelessly, his brows knitted as he struggled with a clasp on his uniformed boots. "I placed the letter on my bed before I left."  
"Will they find it there?" Corin pressed, peering up at him worriedly. Stefan brushed back his hair in agitation, and tied back the strands of hair that were falling in his face, leaving the bottom half down.  
"Probably," Stefan grunted, finally working the leather through the clasp. "I imagine mother will send me a howler for not bothering to tell her directly. So expect that in a few weeks."  
Corin muttered a curse; Stefan stood, entirely decked out in his school uniform. The uniform consisted of fitted black trousers, a grey tunic, and heavy leather boots. Over top of it all, blood red robes and when outdoors they adorned heavy furs to fight the chill of the North. –Corin's outfit was the female version of what he wore, entirely similar in every aspect.

"Are you two ready to pop off, then?" Roman eyed the pair. Stefan and Corin shared a nod, both collecting their trunks. Corin had set aside a leather satchel to store books she had thought would be useful during the tournament; she slung the satchel over her shoulder, and drew out her wand.  
"Now, I imagine it'll be harder to stomach than most trips," her father warned them, "considering you're Disapparating to the other side of the continent."  
"Remember, you're heading to the village first –then the school." Corin's mother added.  
Corin waved off their concerns, "We know –it'll be fine, we've done this before haven't we?"  
"Last time you passed out," Stefan muttered beneath is breath. Corin scowled at him, "Whose side are you on? –Ah whatever, let's go."

Roman enveloped his daughter in a tight hug, peppering the top of her head with scratchy kisses. "It'll be all right," Corin reassured him, "I'll send you an owl when we get to the school."  
"I'll hold you to that," Roman regarded her seriously, before a smile cracked his expression and he affectionately tugged on her ponytail. Roman drew back, before just as easily drawing a disgruntled Stefan into an embrace.  
"I've packed some dress robes for Stefan with your dress," Corin's mother murmured in her ear, as she dragged Corin into a cuddle. "I don't imagine his mother knew to pack some –and even if she did, Stefan would heartily protest. But I think he'll like these."  
"I'll take a picture," Corin joked, allowing a smile to slip across her thin lips.  
"I'll hold you to that," her mother snickered –her mother delicately shoved away her husband from Stefan, and drew the younger man into the cuddle with Corin.  
"You two take care of each other," the older woman gazed at the pair, her grey eyes sharp with a seriousness Corin had never once heard from her mother.  
Corin and Stefan exchanged bewildered looks over top of her head. Their eyes met, and came to a steady agreement. "Always," they promised in unison.

Finally, they broke apart. With a last farewell; Stefan and Corin stood a safe distance apart, and both separately turned on the spot.  
Corin's breath was stolen from her, within seconds Corin could feel herself suffocating. She ignored this, and focused entirely on the exterior of the small pub she and Stefan had agreed as the meeting point. Corin pictured the stone walling, and the short asphalt walkway. She pictured the shabby windows, and the wooden sign that swung outside it.

-Her world was turned upside down a second later. Corin clattered on the very walkway that led up to the pub, she had toppled over her trunk and landed painfully on her back. Corin pushed up onto her knees, struggling to stand on uneasy, trembling legs. Her attempt to stand was proven useless as she keeled over as the uneasiness she felt in her stomach worked its way up her esophagus, into her throat and through her mouth. It splattered against the finely trimmed grass; Corin was relieved that she hadn't taken a second helping of breakfast.

"Nauseating." Stefan muttered, retrieving her trunk from the walkway.  
Corin wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, grimacing she replied, "Not you too."

* * *

Murmurs and gossip had spread throughout the entirety of the school all concerning the Triwizard Tournament, and all those who had been given the scarlet envelope.  
Twelve had been chosen, and out of the dozen Corin was the one of four girls chosen. This did nothing to stop the jealous glares, and devious whispers thrown her way.  
With whispered threats muttered at her back, Corin escaped the school with a hastily written letter in hand. It took nearly fifteen minutes to cross the grounds to reach the Owlery –a large tower where owls and birds alike could be seen flying to and from the building.  
Considering that students were still arriving, the Owlery was almost entirely vacant, save for the few school owls fluttering from perch to perch.  
Wary of owl droppings on the straw-littered floor, Corin made her way deeper into the Owlery. Once in the centre of the building, beneath the open roof, Corin extended her arm and waited patiently for one of the well-trained school owls to land. –She stood there for less than a minute, before a large grey blur swooped towards her. The weight was unexpected –seemingly a full eleven pounds that had nearly knocked her off her feet.  
Severe yellow eyes glared her full in the face, and the blue-grey beak clicked expectantly. Corin did nothing to hide her flabbergasted expression. She stared, her mouth ajar at the colossal bird.

"That's a martial eagle," a voice informed her from behind. "The largest bird of prey in Africa."  
"Professor Lanister!" Corin remarked with surprise, turning on the spot carefully. –She didn't know how well-trained this bird was.  
"Not officially, yet," Professor Lanister responded cheerfully. In his mid-twenties, Professor Calvin Lanister was often mistaken for a young boy, with his sparkling baby-blue eyes, and fair hair. If it weren't for his alarming height, standing a full two heads taller than Corin –a remarkable feat, considering Corin was above the average height of most women – and the numerous ugly scars that marred Professor Lanister's entire body, Professor Lanister would surely be mistaken as a student.  
The scars, as every teacher and student at Durmstrang knew, were self-inflicted. As Professor Lanister was quite unmistakably, a werewolf. Born under an unfortunate moon, the boyish Professor Lanister had attended Durmstrang and was later employed by Durmstrang. Although he wasn't the first to enter the Institute with a severe case of lycanthropy, it did not serve anything to stop the ridicule he received from students. Professor Lanister was currently employed as the Headmaster's aide, training under fellow teachers –although because of his weekly absences, it elongated his training for several years. In those same years, he and Corin had become "first and foremost, friends," as Professor Lanister often insisted.

"You've been growing a beard," Corin noted, eyeing it with undisguised abhorrence. Professor Lanister noticed her expression, pouting slightly, he ran a scarred hand across his patchy stubble. "Not working for me?"  
Corin shook her head, and Professor Lanister sulked further. "I figured it would age me a bit –I'm getting tired of Professor Polinkov calling me 'boy.'"  
Professor Polinkov was Corin's History of Magic Professor, an unpleasant old geezer with an intense dislike for anyone below the age of forty.

The bird perched on Corin's extended arm, clicked its alarmingly large beak and shuffled further up Corin's arm, nuzzling its face into the mahogany ponytail that was sloping dangerously to the right.  
"He seems to like you," Professor Lanister remarked, "although he's a greedy little bugger. Always wanting attention from the students, but I imagine his massive talons and his distinctive non-owl appearance scares them away."  
Corin sniffed lightly, running a finger along the white feathers of the bird's face. Its severe golden eyes shut at the attention, and the eagle burrowed further into her hair.  
"What'd you make of him?" Corin inquired. Professor Lanister, well-known for his love of creatures and their innate affection for him, stepped closer, and began a somewhat-clinical inspection.  
"I've seen him around as a fledgling years ago, so I imagine his parents nested nearby –but kicked him out of the nest too early, considering his plumage was almost entirely white then and he could hardly fly." Professor Lanister recalled; cautiously, with a gloved hand, took the eagle's right wing and unfolded it to its full length. Professor Lanister whistled lowly, "Impressive, I reckon his full wingspan is nearly eight feet. And factoring in the greying of his plumage, he'd be around three or so years."

"He's huge," Corin remarked. "Have you got a name for him?"  
"He doesn't care for me too much," Professor Lanister released the eagle's wing, and tossed a bitter look at the bird. "Care to name him?"  
Thrilled at the idea, Corin grinned. She had never once had a pet before –living so closely to dragons had its disadvantages, no cat or dog would last a week around those hungry beasts.  
"Uh," Corin sought through an imaginary list of names, and began shooting out options, "Casper? –No, how about Hannibal?"  
Professor Lanister cringed openly, "I don't like that one, it implies too much er –cannibalism." Corin cringed as well, "Right –sorry. Er… How about Sterling?"  
"Might as well," Professor Lanister extended a finger, and brushed it across the steel-grey plumage, "how'd you like that, Sterling?" he cooed. The eagle clicked his peak, and bobbed his head in an attempt to steal the letter from Corin's free hand.  
"Hey!" Corin protested, "Have you even been trained to deliver letters?"  
In response, the eagle extended his large leg, peering expectantly up at Corin. Corin shrugged her opposite shoulder, and hastened to tie the letter in place. As she finished, she looked at the bird seriously, "Now there are dragons there, so try not to fly too close and get eaten, all right?"  
Sterling extended his wings –forcing both Professor Lanister and Corin to duck their heads as to not be struck by the impressive wingspan, and flew off. In the distance, his shrill cry echoed.

Professor Lanister and Corin watched as the bird became only a distant arch in the sky, before disappearing entirely from sight. Professor Lanister shook his blond bangs from his eyes and took to Corin.  
"So, how was your summer?" he asked in an attempt to draw out their conversation. Professor Lanister drew up the hood of his black robes over his fair head as they stepped out of the Owlery. A habit, as he often attempted to conceal the single, white scar that stretched diagonally across his right cheek.  
Corin brightened considerably, "Brilliant! I was travelling since late June! I went with Stefan and a few Romani people who were stationed outside of the village at the time."  
"Gypsies," Professor Lanister repeated, his brows raised curiously. "Did you er –learn anything of their trade?"  
Corin's smile flickered guiltily, "Of course –but it might be useful, someday." She shrugged. Both she and Professor Lanister ducked simultaneously as a student seated on a broom swept past overhead.  
"I heard you were at the Quidditch World Cup –blimey, that must've been nice. I couldn't go, you see, it didn't exactly line up with my lunar schedule." Professor Lanister openly puckered his lips in a pout at that.  
"Oh it was brilliant," Corin expressed brightly, her guilty expression vanishing. "What I'd give to be out there –ah, but I missed the opening ceremonies. And the first quarter since the British Minister of Magic was feeling chatty."  
Professor Lanister scrunched up his nose, as though he had sniffed something foul. "Political affairs are the worst –though I reckon both you and I can't get past it, considering our heritage."  
The pair were drawing close to the castle now, and the few students who lingered on the grounds spotted them. The students, a set of Fifth Years, knitted closer together, throwing angry looks towards them.  
_"Oh!"_ Professor Lanister exclaimed. He had remembered to inform her at the sight of gossiping students. "You're in the Daily Prophet by the way! Although it's in English, your picture is there clear as day!"  
Corin heaved an annoyed sigh, after all, it wasn't the first time she had been given public recognition. "What're they saying about me?"  
Professor Lanister blushed an alarming shade of red. His voice lowered, and he tugged her into the castle away from curious ears and eyes. After all, he was training to become a teacher, and he couldn't be seen gossiping with a student. "Well, er –they've got a picture of you and your fellow student Viktor Krum. The picture includes you pressing a bit of cloth to blot the blood from his face. –Nasty bit of business those Buldgers. Anyway, since he refused the care of MedWizards but let _you_ clean him up everyone's in an uproar and thinking that you two are together."  
Corin groaned, and rubbed her temples. She leant against the stone walling and muttered, "Spite the day I'm actually kind to someone."  
Professor Lanister sniffed importantly, appearing to turn up his nose dramatically, "As an esteemed aide to the great Durmstrang Institute's Headmaster, it's no matter to me of my student's love lives." Despite his words, he peered expectantly down at her through his pale lashes. Smiling at his obviousness, Corin waved away her Professor's concerns, "We're not dating –I have no interest in boys. Especially International Quidditch players." With an afterthought, she added, "Nor girls, for that matter."  
"Ah –keep an eye on your career, Miss. Oblansk," Professor Lanister advised her with a wink. "That's what I'm doing."  
"What? Women don't find the hairy look appealing?" Corin joked, Professor Lanister pouted sourly and muttered beneath his breath.  
"Just because I've got a little more bite than most men –ooh," he cut himself off with a grimace as a cluster of girls passed, and glanced over to the pair, giggling deviously. "I really ought to quit speaking so freely with you –I'm going to get in trouble if rumours spread that we're in some sort of a relationship."  
Corin grinned pointedly, "What'd I just say, Professor?"  
"I'm not a boy," Professor Lanister puffed up his chest proudly, "I'm a man!"  
Corin couldn't help but chuckle at her Professor's raucous behaviour. "Even still, you've said it yourself. We're 'first and foremost friends,' not to mention we're both adults –even if you act like a kid sometimes, having a close relationship is no big deal."  
Professor Lanister eyed her, snorting at Corin's words. "Ah, shut up, you brat. I don't need your reassurance." Although he was smiling.

The pair delved further into the castle, prowling the stone flooring as they conversed. At some points, the pair could see their breaths, the result furthered them to don their fur coats. Professor Lanister made a point to draw his black robe further around him, concealing the powder-blue tunic he wore beneath –and Corin curled her hands into fists, fitting them beneath her arms, regretting her choice to wear fingerless gloves.  
"So," Corin began conversationally, her teeth chattering, "I imagine the Headmaster will be dragging you along with him to the Triwizard Tournament."  
"Of course!" Professor Lanister cried out in a scandalous tone, "who else will pour his pumpkin juice!?" Sharing a grin, Professor Lanister added, "Congratulations, by the way. I was there helping the Headmaster seal those wave-making scarlet envelopes. You couldn't imagine my squeal when I saw your name in the mix –the Headmaster thought I burned myself on hot wax."  
Corin beamed at him, "how will you manage your hairy little problem?"  
"We're taking a boat to Hogwarts –what an odd name for a school, by the way. And we've specially arranged a dungeon to be made for me on the day of my transformation. Apparently some parents of the kids chosen to go are still in a tiff, and figure I might make a nice midnight snack out of their children." A scowl worked its way across Professor Lanister's face –which he managed to hide as he and Corin crossed into the Dining Hall. Beneath his breath he muttered, "Not that I'd ever chew on someone the Headmaster deemed as worthy –anyway, I've got to help the Headmaster prepare his evening speech. See you, kiddo."  
Corin murmured a farewell, and watched as Professor Lanister ducked out of the Dining Hall.

Corin collect a tin tray, and served herself at the heating platforms, where the school chefs lay the food to keep warm. She piled her plate with mashed potatoes and pickled gherkin, and snagging a steaming mug of coffee to warm her up.  
She scanned the eating area, easily spotting Stefan amongst the already gathered students. Stefan, ever the most popular, was surrounded by a gaggle of girls –all whom appeared to be swooning over the newly gossiped contestant. Stefan tolerated them merely out of vague interest for the opposite sex, otherwise a slight furrow touched his brow. Corin started towards him –ignoring the looks on her back, and she was forced to hide a smile when she realised that he lay a heavy boot on the chair to his left, preventing any of the girls to swipe the spot.  
"You're late," Stefan greeted her with a growl. Corin said nothing, although her mouth twitched with the effort to hide her amusement.  
"Thanks," she murmured, as he moved his boot for her to sit. She did so, after sweeping off the dirt his boot had left behind. Corin greeted the girls –who all apparently had heard that Corin had also become a candidate.  
While they chattered, Stefan leant close under the guise that he was removing a leaf from her hair.  
"Where were you?" he muttered, his fingers blindly pulling at her ponytail.  
Corin pretended to help him, "I was sending a letter to Papa –this martial eagle took my letter, honestly I'm a bit worried about his incompetence- but he seemed to like me. I even got to name the little brute! –And then Professor Lanister and I went for a walk around the castle."  
"Well, that's all fine and dandy," Stefan muttered, "but you should have heard what everyone's been saying!"  
Concerned, Corin peered up at him with furrowed brows. Stefan glanced to the girls that where still chattering aimlessly, and muttered a quick, "I'll tell you later," before drawing away under the guise that he had retrieved the leaf.

Corin grumbled to herself and was wondering through all the things that could have possibly made Stefan listen to the babble and gossip of others. She had just finished her potatoes, and was enjoying a warming cup of coffee when the Headmaster –followed quickly by Professor Lanister –strode through the Dining Hall's doors.  
Instantly, those nearest scrambled to stand, placing their right fist over their hearts in the respectful Durmstrang salute. Corin heaved a sigh, already knowing what was to come. She too set her cup down and slowly rose to salute. She was one of the last to stand, being one of the fair few who revealed their blatant dislike for their current Headmaster.

Headmaster Karkaroff strode past his students, dressed in sleek silver furs. He hardly spared his students a glance, as he strode to the podium that had been erected entirely for the purpose of serving the Headmaster for this very announcement.  
"As you've all been informed, I'm sure," Headmaster Karkaroff began, sparing no time to greet his students. "That the Triwizard Tournament is to take place at Hogwarts. This is true. And I've personally selected twelve candidates who I've deemed worthy and capable enough to attend alongside myself. The candidates," Headmaster Karkaroff's beady blue eyes scanned the Dining Hall and seemed to settle on Corin –his eyes narrowed with an emotion she was unable to place, "will travel to Hogwarts via boat on the second week of October. There, a single candidate will be chosen and will act accordingly. That is all."

All scrambled to stand yet again, saluting as Headmaster Karkaroff strode down from the podium. Only when the Headmaster's sleek furs disappear from sight, did the Dining Hall erupt in whispers.  
Stefan and Corin exchanged a look. Nodding her assent, Corin downed her coffee in one go. She and Stefan grabbed their food trays, and returned them to the bin before fleeing the Dining Hall to discuss important manners.

Hidden away by shelves upon shelves of dusty, aged books. The library was the perfect place to hide –classes began tomorrow morning, so there was no need for students to be wandering the shelves. So the pair were safely tucked away from listening ears to discuss their new-found amorousness.

* * *

"-And at least twelve girls that had no idea I existed until now decided that I was suddenly worth their time and asked me to eat supper with them." Stefan shook his head disbelievingly, unsure how to take the sudden influx of attention. Corin couldn't help but laugh at his bewilderment, and patted his hand reassuringly.  
"There, there. I'm sure those nasty girls will find someone else to lay their affections on," she snickered, "once they realise you've only got books on the mind."  
"Shut up," he grumbled, turning his head away to hide his growing blush. Corin giggled to herself, and brushed away the wavy strands of mahogany hair that were catching on her dark lashes. She easily became irritated with her unpredictable hair, and untied it from her ponytail.  
"At least they're acting positively –I've never gotten so many glares in my life."  
"Well, you're used to the attention, aren't you?" Stefan countered, "what with you being in the newspaper and all."  
"Professor Lanister told me about that article," Corin grumbled. "Last time I got mistaken for dating someone famous –if I remember correctly it was Heathcoat Barbary, the lead guitarist for The Weird Sisters, I got loads of hate letters. I mean, all I did was shake his hand! Next thing you know they'll be lumping me with the British Minister's adviser!"  
Stefan cracked a slight smile at that, "How'd that get resolved again?"  
"Barbary got married," Corin replied blandly, "the paper didn't want to fess up, so they made it off that their editor mistook her for me, saying that we looked alike. –Which is total bollocks, by the way, she's at least a foot shorter and blonde!"

Corin threw up her hands in exasperation. Although Stefan wasn't looking at her, instead he peered over her shoulder. Corin followed his gaze, raising her brows as Viktor Krum abruptly turned on his heel, making it off as though looking for a book. Corin sincerely doubted this considering that he was looking at the shelf labelled as cookbooks.  
Stefan leant close to her ear, his large brown eyes sizing up the other man. "I reckon he's not looking up cookie recipes. –I wouldn't be surprised if he spun the whole dating thing on you."  
"Yeah…" Corin agreed steadily, watching as Krum closed the book of recipes he was flicking through. Krum shot a look at the pair –glancing away quickly when he spotted that they were watching him, and shuffled away.  
"He got picked as a candidate too," Stefan informed her. "I don't like my odds after being betted up against him."  
Corin narrowed her eyes, feeling a bitter taste wash across her tongue. "May the best wizard win."

* * *

**A.N. + Reviewer Response!:**

**_hoove-print-on-your-heart-_ I'm ecstatic that I've attracted your attention! Thank you for your review!- I sincerely hope that you enjoyed this chapter.**

**Once again a long chapter! I had to cut it short otherwise it'd be too long. I've already begun on the next chapter; we'll be arriving at Hogwarts shortly!**

**I do not own Harry Potter.**

**-AL**


	5. Chapter 5- The Mallet of Trust

**Chapter Five  
The Mallet of Trust**

Classes proceeded as normal. –Or they would have, if it weren't for the stacks of hate mail she received almost daily –delivered by angry, swooping owls of all breeds, colours and sizes. The martial eagle Corin had dubbed as Sterling had taken to gliding overhead during the hour that mail was delivered, and rebutted the attacks that the irate owls attempted to deliver. Admittedly, Corin had grown immensely fond of the bird and had taken to feeding him slices of meat and sausages at meals.  
But one thing that Sterling couldn't protect Corin from was the vicious rumours that were fluttering around the school like a disease. Along with a few other students who had been chosen to attend the Triwizard Tournament, Corin was ridiculed on a daily basis, mocked in class by classmates who whispered foul things every time Corin raised her hand to answer or ask a question, constantly having to watch her back in the hallways in case someone attempted to stick a bit of gum in her hair, or paste a crude note on her back –Corin even made the effort to complete all her work in class just to avoid Study Hall. The first few times Corin had attempted to attend Study Hall, she had been challenged to at least five duels by jealous classmates in her year.  
On top of that, Viktor Krum insistently hovered just beyond arm's length, seemingly not far from her heels at meals, in the hallways, and when she and Stefan studied in the library. Corin was beginning to grow agitated with his constant presence, but didn't have the heart to send him away.  
"He hasn't done anything to me!" Corin defended, as Stefan expressed his developing displeasure with the Quidditch player. Stefan had scowled in response, and gruffly replied, _"Not yet, anyway."_

Nonetheless, Corin found herself at the end of her History of Magic class, pretending that all her book had fallen out of her satchel, and she was slowly putting them back in an attempt to avoid her classmates.  
Professor Polinkov frowned at her over his circular frames.  
"Oi –Oblansk. Hurry it up!" He barked at her impatiently, the grey whiskers on his face seemed to bristle with agitation. Corin fumbled with the clasp of her bag for a moment longer, before slinging the satchel over her shoulder in a disheartened manner. Professor Polinkov regarded her for a moment, as she crossed the classroom.  
"Come here, Oblansk," he ordered sharply. Corin turned on her heel, and looked up at her old Professor hopefully. Professor Polinkov snorted at her obvious desperateness. "Stand up for yourself, Oblansk. Next time one of those little brats try to stick something on your back in class, I'll close my eyes if you want to hex them."  
Corin exhaled, and gazed at him thankfully, "Thank you, Professor. It means a lot."  
Professor Polinkov grunted, "Now get out of here –and," his expression softened just barely, "make Durmstrang proud at the Tournament."  
"I'll do my best," Corin promised him, a small smile curling her lips. She hurried from the classroom, afraid if she stuck around any longer, he'd take back what he had said.  
Blissfully, the hallways were vacant –the time she had taken to fiddle with her satchel and speak to Professor Polinkov proved worthwhile. She walked the halls with a leisure pace, assured that everyone was already at supper.  
"Corin Oblansk."  
Almost everyone, that is.

Corin turned on her heel to face the man. Viktor Krum, who had been hiding behind a pillar emerged –and he looked, surprisingly, embarrassed.  
Corin sat on the back of her heels, teetering anxiously. Her hand slipped into her back pocket, where her wand resided. He had caught her unaware, typically she would be with Stefan walking to supper, but Stefan had earned himself a detention after he had hung Lathan Rovuma by his ankles after he had stuck a bit of parchment to her back with a classic, 'Kick me,' scrawled across it. Luckily, no one was brave enough to do so after Stefan had dealt with Lathan Rovuma.

"You've an inherent ability to surround yourself," Krum remarked. His thick brows were knitted, and he seemed to be sweating more than usual.  
"I suppose," Corin murmured, eyeing him up. At the slightest movement, she would whip out her wand and hex him –just as she had practiced with Stefan in a secluded classroom.  
"I will be blunt," Krum told her sincerely. "Are we dating, as everyone says?"  
Corin did nothing to hide her blatant disbelief. Her lips had parted, head quirked to the side, and she stared at him wide-eyed. She couldn't believe that she was having this conversation with Viktor Krum, the World's Best Seeker and Quidditch Player.  
"Well?" he demanded impatiently, "What is your answer?"  
"Er -," she stuttered, shaking her head, "I'm going to confidently say, 'no.'"  
"Oh," Krum did little to hide his conflicting emotions –what seemed to be both relief and disappointment. Corin felt herself relaxing, and her hand slipped away from her wand.  
"What made you think that –the rumours?" she asked him, drawing her hair from her ponytail, shaking it loose and rubbing the tender place where the base of her ponytail had been. Krum gawked at her, but shakily nodded his head.  
"Everyone was saying so –and you've said nothing against it, so I wondered if you thought we were together as well."  
Corin observed him pointedly, "I don't have a habit of dating men whom I've only shaken hands with."  
"What about that guitarist, the famous musician?" Krum shot back. Corin groaned, and found herself beginning to walk alongside him, "No, damn it. I've met him once! That was just that stupid magazine trying to make itself seem important. –Besides, a handshake means nothing."  
"Ah, good," Krum nodded to himself, "that means I have a chance."  
Corin flashed him a look of confusion, to which Krum gazed pointedly down at her hand, "I've bled on you –surely, that is significant."  
Corin couldn't help but laugh.

* * *

The first weeks of October where a fumbling mess, at least for Corin. It seemed all her Professors were attempting to hammer as much information as they could into her mind before she went. On top of that, her Professors had given her loads of spells, charms and hexes to practice –some of them, Corin was sure, weren't even legal in Britain. Alongside packing and scrambling with last minute packing, Corin was growing exhausted –and couldn't wait to leave.  
As of late –what with the bullying increasing in cruelty as the Tournament drew closer, Corin couldn't wait to be packed away on that boat.

As the fourth week of October came and past, Corin watched from beneath the thick quilts of her bed as her clock ticked into the morning of the fifth week of October. The long hand of the clock had hit the two when Corin felt her eyelids fluttering shut from exhaustion.  
She had a pleasant dream about pumpkins, who had been hexed to sing spooky Hallowe'en songs, and jump out at people passing by. They had arrived at Hogwarts –the castle looked identical to Durmstrang's, other than the fact that the grass had been charmed to look purple. And that she, and the few chosen stalked the grounds to enter Hogwarts, only for one of the pumpkins to gobble up Headmaster Karkaroff. Only when Professor Lanister tried to yank the Headmaster out of the pumpkin's mouth by his boot did Corin felt herself being stirred awake.  
Her grey eyes blearily adjusted to the face shoved inches from hers –she stared into the baby-blue eyes of Professor Lanister and let out a blood-curdling scream.

Professor Lanister drew back sharply, cringing and clapping his hands to his ears. "Goddamn –why do women always scream when they wake up looking at my face –ah, never mind that." He flushed, dropping his hands away from his ears. "Forget I said anything, anyway, you've got to get up! Get changed, grab your things! The Headmaster said the boat's leaving at a quarter past three –it's very nearly two-fifty!"  
Corin groaned a curse, throwing off her quilts –Professor Lanister gasped, looking at her attire.  
Corin followed his gaze, and rolled her eyes. She crossed her arms over her chest, and scowled, "You're acting like you caught me in my knickers! It's just a corset –now get out of here!"  
She tossed her pillow at her Professor, and he all but ran from the room, his scarred hands scrambling to hide his beet red face.

Corin took to the shower, and upon finishing took the time to blast the water out of her hair with a heating spell. It was October in the North –she'd freeze if she wandered outdoors with wet hair. It appeared that she had slept through her morning classes, and lunch for that matter, as her dormitory was entirely vacant. Corin was immensely grateful, and she hastened to pull on her uniformed grey tunic, pants and brown leather boots right in the middle of the bedding area. She forwent the blood red robes, and instead pulled on her brown overcoat with the fur interior and lining. She snagged her trunk and flung her satchel over her right shoulder, hurrying from the dormitory.  
It had taken her fifteen minutes to sprint across the grounds, in that time her cheeks had gone pink and her eyes were stinging with tears from the cold. Ten minutes to spare, Corin arrived at the lakefront –sacrificing her trunk and satchel to be taken down to where her bed was to be stationed.  
Among the eleven others who had been chosen, Corin could not spot Stefan –she figured that he was helping the others pack away luggage, and she easily slid next in line to Viktor.

"Good after-noon," he slurred in rough English, his dark brows knitted in concentration. Corin grinned despite her weighing fatigue. Viktor had been practicing his accent –and although he hadn't expressed this, Corin was positive that Viktor carried concerns on whether he'd be able to communicate with the Hogwarts students.  
"Afternoon," she replied blandly, her smile withered and weakened. Viktor noticed this, but said nothing about her fatigue. The pair were steadily growing friendlier –although not to the point where they would date, which Corin would state quite firmly when Viktor had once tried to hold her hand while walking alongside her in the hallway.  
"You are lucky the Headmaster is not here yet," Viktor muttered, giving up on English. "He would have scolded you."  
"Yeah, yeah." She sighed drowsily, tentatively rubbing the dark circles beneath her eyes. "Then he'd really know where to shove it after I was finished with him."  
Viktor said nothing, although he was gazing down at her with a look she couldn't quite place. It seemed as though he was gathering courage. Corin raised a brow at her typically surly friend and observed him curiously as he took a step behind her. To her ultimate astonishment, Krum had gently taken her hair and gathered it in a bundle at the back of her head, and stabbed something into it. The hair remained in place, although a few loose strands fell against her cheeks.  
"Damn," Viktor muttered sourly, "I must practice more."  
Corin touched the hairdo tentatively, peering up at Viktor in open-mouthed wonder. "Where'd you learn to do that? –And how're you keeping it in place?"  
"I have a cousin," Viktor responded evasively, "and I used a pin in the shape of broom that we were awarded for second place at the World Cup."  
Corin's arched brows creased with concern, and she hurriedly touched the bit of gold in her hair, "Oh! You shouldn't –no I might lose it! - You did so well in that game! You should take care of it!" She insisted.  
His face became a brooding mask, and he gently turned her head to the side for a better look. "No. Keeping that pin reminds me that I did not fly well enough –and it looks good on you, wear it."  
"But-"  
"And I will show you how I fly," Viktor interrupted her, "and teach you, so someday we could play together."  
Corin's cheeks flushed an alarming pink, she began to stutter, "V-Viktor –I –really? I mean, I don't have a broom." Viktor looked surlier than ever, "I do."  
Corin opened her mouth to retort –but was cut off by Stefan sliding between them. He was breathing heavily, and several distinctive shades of lipstick peppered his face. He was cursing, and looking round at the pair in bewilderment.  
"Those girls..!" he panted, smearing the gloss with his gloved hand, "Fuck, I- I didn't know –they –they wouldn't let me leave until –anyway, sorry I'm late."  
Corin couldn't help but laugh at his expression. Stefan scowled at her, and turned a question at Viktor, "How'd you do it? Get rid of the girls?"  
"You don't," Viktor responded very quietly, "they are like rabid Grindylows, and will always bite at your heels."

Stefan looked as though he had become ill, and quietly turned to Corin, "While I was down there I managed to slip this."  
Tossing a look over his shoulder, he pushed a tin flask into her hand. She cried out in pain as the metal burned her –nearly dropping it."  
"Ow!" she cried, "what the hell is in that?"  
"Calm down," Stefan grunted, eyeing her pale face, "I figured you'd need it –and by the look of the dark circles I was right. Now drink up."  
Corin pulled the sleeves of her overcoat over her hands, and took it warily. She unscrewed the cap, and after ensuring that no one was watching her, tossed the substance back. It nearly scalded the entirety of her mouth, but the sweetened combination of cream and sugar had her drinking it down steadily. She took a breath after downing the entire flask, "Coffee! You're my saviour Stefan!" She had missed the first two meals of the day, as well as her daily intake of her caffeinated beverage. The stirring in the back of her head vanished, as her addiction was sated.  
Viktor eyed the pair, and opened his mouth to make a comment –a sudden hush fell among the twelve candidates. Corin turned a look over her shoulder, and found herself rolling her eyes.

Dressed in his customary silver furs, with a yellowed grin on his face that did not meet his eyes, Headmaster Karkaroff marched across the dying grass, Professor Lanister at his heels.  
"Candidates!" Karkaroff extended his arms, and took the nearest saluting student –which happened to be one of the two Eighth Year girls who had been chosen, and pecked either side of her face. He followed the procedure with the other girl, and the Sixth Year girl, before he worked his way down the line, shaking hands with the boys. At the end of the line, where he met Corin, Corin forced a smile and simply took his hand to shake. The Headmaster's icy eyes gleamed with the same emotion they had when he and Corin had locked eyes in the Dining Hall at the beginning of the semester. Corin was flooded with an intense dislike for him, as well as an uneasy feeling. She felt a fiery heat envelop her, and Karkaroff dropped her hand as though he had been burned.  
Professor Lanister –who had refused to look her in the face since his arrival shot an alarmed expression at her, before his face became the colour of stewed beets and he glanced away.  
Karkaroff stared her down for a moment longer, clutching his left forearm arm. Abruptly he turned his back to her, and climbed the walkway onto the boat. He fixed his fake grin onto his face yet again, "My prized students! Today, we embark on a journey! –A journey that will lead only one of you to glory. Tomorrow evening, we will arrive at Hogwarts, until then, it is in your best interest to stay below deck. Into the ship!"

Corin numbly followed onto the ship, her inquisitive gaze met her right hand. The dragon on her ring finger twisted and thrashed, the bloodstone was gleaming a deadly crimson. Corin glanced around at the others, but it seemed no one noticed the thrashing ring –it was then she remembered, her mother had always worn the ring –and surely one of the enchantments would have attracted her or her father's interest? But Corin could not recall ever seeing the ring once on her mother.  
_Just how strong, is this bit of jewelry?_

* * *

It became rather apparent, rather quickly, that boats were not for her.  
She sat on her destined bed, her posture prim and straight. Her lips were pursed together so tightly that they had gone white, and her face had fallen a deathly ill colour. Her grey eyes, weary, stared straight ahead unblinkingly.

An Eighth Year boy, Ivan Poliakoff, notoriously known for his Nordic table manners, gazed upon her from the opposite side of the room, where he and the eight other boys who had been chosen, gathered around their beds –gossiping feverously about their apparent placement so close to the girls' beds. Ivan observed her, brandishing a drink of warm honey and tea in a fancy silver goblet. He gazed down his nose at her, an open-mouth grin stretching across his thin lips, exposing his alarmingly white teeth.  
Finally, he pushed up from where he was seated in the centre of the cluster and strolled towards her with a cocky gait.

"Hey, Oblansk," he greeted her noisily, standing at her bedside. Corin's eyes did not flicker from where they glared, unseeing, at the wooden pillar. Nor did she give any vocal inclination, instead she inclined her head slightly to the right in a silent greeting.  
Ivan laughed breathily through his nose, his grin never ceasing. He dropped himself down beside her, the bed squeaking in protest at the sudden weight. "You're bloody stubborn, you know that?" He asked rhetorically, gazing up at her face from where he lay at her side. He ran his free hand through his ashen hair, musing it even further than it already had been. "By now anyone would've flown to the can to empty their stomachs."  
She didn't respond, although her jaw twitched at the apparent vulgarity. Ivan sat up rather suddenly, jostling the bed. His brown-eyed stare increased ten-fold, and Corin could feel the theoretical holes burning into her cheek. He extended his hand, and plucked the gold pin from her hair.  
In the same instant, the dark wood of her wand jabbed into the soft underside of his jaw. Although her lips continued to supress her secret, the message was clear in her severe grey eyes. She extended her right hand, and Ivan carefully lay the golden broom in it –both hands, one still clutching the goblet, rising in surrender.  
Without breaking their unblinking contest, Corin tucked away the pin –reminding herself to later ask Viktor how he managed her hair.

Ivan inclined his head towards her, as if to silently assure her that he meant no harm. Corin slowly dropped her wand hand into her lap. Her glower reminded Ivan of a feral animal, untrusting, and most importantly –_unpredictable._  
Without breaking their contest, Ivan took a tiny mouthful from the goblet before extending it to her.  
She did not alter her stare.  
Ivan dropped his defensive posture and sighed, "Look, Oblansk. We're all here for the same reason –we've gotta to trust each other, 'cause if we can't trust each other then who's gonna take care of us?"  
Corin's harsh glare crumbled, her eyes clenching shut before flickering open once more to reveal a softer gaze. Ivan extended the goblet once more, but Corin shook her head.  
"It'll end up down your shirt if I drink that," Corin muttered through gritted teeth, her face more pallid than usual. But Ivan shook his head, chuckling, "-And entirely blunt," he muttered to himself, "No, no. My little sister gets motion sickness too, y'see, so my mom always makes her honeyed tea to soothe the stomach. So I made so for you. It's still warm, so go on."  
Daringly, Corin took the silver goblet –briefly admiring the rubies encrusted into it, before downing it in one go. She gazed down at the goblet, waiting for the drink to come back up. There was a brief second before the affect was upon her, and in that second Corin revealed a look of utter betrayal.

It was as if a heavy mallet had struck her upside the head. The goblet clattered to the ever shifting floor, and Corin's head fell onto Ivan's lap. Ivan spared a chuckle at her graceless fall, informing her rather uselessly, "And the honey possesses a strong sedative, in which the effect is almost instantaneous."  
In the place of his knees, Ivan tucked a pillow beneath her head and layered a thick quilt over her body. He took her wand and placed it at her bedside table. Ivan spared a second to brush the mahogany-coloured ringlets from her sleeping face, before sauntering back to his friends –bumping his fist against Stefan's in a congratulatory manner.

* * *

**A.N. & Reviewer Response:**

**Oh the ****deviousness! Anyway, this was a more of a filler chapter -although I believe it sufficiently revealed some development, despite being a little shorter than usual.**

_**hoove-print-on-your-heart-**_**Hello again! Thanks, once again, for your review! I hope this chapter has met your standards! Concerning character development, what is your intake on Viktor Krum? Do you think I'm portraying him correctly? Thanks again, for your review! **

**I do not own Harry Potter.**

**-AL**


	6. Chapter 6- The Castle Beyond the Lake

**Chapter Six  
The Castle Beyond the Lake**

Even before opening her eyelids, she could sense Stefan puttering around her restlessly. Corin supressed a smile, although there was no need considering the mounds of blankets and quilts that were slowly beginning to suffocate her. She lay there for a moment longer, taking the time with what little oxygen that remained, Corin allowed her head to clear of the Dementor-like fog.  
She shuddered at the comparison, her mind unconsciously flitting back to the memory of the horrible beasts and the experience she had brought back with her.

_She had once –long ago, seen the hooded figures attending a trial when she was just a young girl. Her Uncle had taken her along, with only the consent of her naïve little mind and introduced her to them. Theoretically, of course. Her Uncle disapproved of the British Government's settlement with the Dementors, but could not deny their usefulness. Corin could vaguely recall that the woman of whom the trial belonged to was a born Englishwoman, but had carried her crimes out in Bulgaria –hence her Uncle's presence.  
The woman, whose name Corin could not place, was dragged in by the Dementors. Although the woman's name preceded her, Corin would never forget her face.  
Waxen, gaunt and as if she had not been given a meal in months. Her skin clung to bone, visible through the formless, tattered grey robes she had been given to wear. The woman looked as though the beasts that hoisted her up could shatter her by simply layering one of their visibly rotten and scabbed-looking hands atop her. The Dementors had the appearance of decaying human corpses –Corin idly speculated if that was how humans were portrayed once left beneath the soil.  
The Dementors were cloaked by an unnatural chill, which seemed to steal the warmth from the torch-fires surrounding the room, and leaving the preadolescent Corin trembling in her thick, sapphire pullover.  
At the time, her Uncle offered no comfort, observing the woman and the Dementors with the same cold, calculated expression that all the adults in the room possessed. As an adult currently, Corin understood that their expressions reflected their attempts to control their emotions in regard to the Dementors.  
But as a child, Corin lacked emotional and physical restraint and had twitched and shuddered as the Dementors passed by –her influx of emotions attracted one of the four Dementors attending, and it had paused to turn its flesh-cloaked, skeletal face up at her._

_A scream bubbled at her lips, but her Uncle had abruptly stood upon the Dementor's pause and extended his wand. From the very tip of the wand erupted a life-sized bear, which stood on its hind legs –entirely ethereal, and seemed to glare down at the Dementor. The Dementor glided past, as though the bear had frightened it, and rejoined the three Dementors. Her Uncle seated himself once more, baffling Corin with a look she was unable to categorise and placed a comforting hand a top her head. She trembled visibly, powerless to vanish the image of its socket less eyes and a gaping, hole-like mouth. The Patronus –as she knew presently, lowered itself onto its four legs, and settled to the left of Corin. The Patronus seemed to radiate warmth, and the strength that had been plucked from Corin as easily as a petal from a flower. Corin unconsciously leant towards the Patronus, and kept her suspiciously reddening eyes on the sight below.  
The Dementors had deposited the woman onto a chair carved from stone, retreating to the far corner of the room as instructed. The chains that lay to the right of the chair came alive, wrapping themselves around the woman, binding her legs and arms to the rests.  
The woman's head lulled upwards, her expression free of any emotion. Her face, in an odd, slightly contorted way, seemed to mock the Dementors'. Her eyes were sunken, and the flesh seemed to stretch across her face too tightly, and her mouth hung dully, drool dripping from the corner of her thin grey lips. What little hair the woman had left was a dull, wispy and blonde. The adults in the room looked upon the woman in disgust, but Corin couldn't help but feel terrified by the woman._

_The trial had proceeded, but the woman did not speak. With dead eyes she observed the audience of witches and wizards seated around her in a half-circle, her eyes lingered on each witch or wizard individually for a brief few seconds, as though attempting to memorise their faces. Corin had been watching the woman –her face, no doubt creased in horror. And as the woman's eyes left her Uncle's face, they met Corin's.  
Corin couldn't deny the stirring of emotion on the woman's face. A child present at a murderous woman's trial? Unheard of –and completely unethical. But the woman's eyes lingered no longer, and set off once again across the room.  
The trial had ended almost abruptly, as when it came to the woman's time to speak, she called out in a hoarse voice –sounding as if she had screamed her throat raw.  
"I did it!" she roared, her eyes bulged in their sockets, spit flying freely from her mouth as her head thrashed. "I killed them all! Why? BECAUSE IT WAS FUN!" The woman had thrown her head back and shrieked with laughter, ringing across the shock-stunned audience.  
Her Uncle had pushed up from his seat, his look was something Corin had never once seen before. Cold and as hard as ice, undeniable hatred marring his strong face. In practiced English –a language, at the time, Corin was struggling to learn, her Uncle boomed out, "You are aware of what this entails? –Minister," he turned a look to his counterpart, who nodded his assent, her Uncle addressed the audience, "And all agree that the punishment is to be carried out?"  
No one dared speak against him. –Not even Corin, his designated heir and beloved niece dared to challenge him. Because the Uncle that Corin knew and loved was absent, in his place was a man whose square jaw had been set, his broad shoulders squarde and his gentle brown eyes had hardened to stone._

_"It is decided," her Uncle fixed his eyes the woman, "The Council of Magic and the Wizengamot herby sanction the punishment of the Dementor's Kiss –Dementors!"  
The creatures that hung in the far corner had suddenly swooped down and surrounded the woman, the closest had stretched out its burned and crippled hand, clutching the woman's shoulder. Freed from her chains, the woman thrashed, but unable to escape the vice-like grip of the Dementor. As the Dementor lowered its hood, the woman howled a blood-curdling scream, which echoed in Corin's ears. A noise of suction overwhelmed the scream, and the woman became silent, she shook as though a leaf in the wind. The Dementor was lowering its head to hers when the woman gasped out, "I will see the end by my terms!"  
And the woman's own hands had gripped her throat, throttling herself. Gasps rang out across the courtroom, although no one requested aid. By the time the Dementor had layered its mouth over the woman's, she was long gone._

Corin gasped, flailing and struggling to sit up with the weight of the quilts. The quilts were torn off of her head, and Corin harshly inhaled the musty, lower-deck smell –and found herself relaxing. Stefan hovered over her anxiously, quilt in hand, his brows creased and his bottom lip red from worrying it.  
Corin smiled, hoping her expression reassured him that all was well.  
"I was concerned," he muttered, releasing the quilts. Stefan dropped a single knee onto her bed and knelt close, pushing back her hair from her forehead, he layered his lips on her dampened brow.  
He lingered there, muttering mostly to himself, "Typically, you thrash and turn in your sleep. Anyone near you normally receives a good kick or two before they learn to retreat. But you were so still –like a corpse."  
Corin exhaled and gently patted his broad shoulder, "I'm okay," she assured him.  
"-And typically you snore."  
"Hey!" she cried out, shoving him off of her with a laugh, "I don't snore!"  
"You do," he insisted, his lips curving up slightly, "like the sound of a straight-piped exhaust."  
Corin looked at him blankly, "A what?"  
"A Muggle thing," he dismissed with a shake of his head –clearly remembering that Corin knew little to nothing about Muggle inventions. Corin sat up in bed, running her fingers through her dark hair, cringing as her ring caught a knot. Carefully she extracted her hand, deeming the poor attempt to sort out her hair as useless.  
Stefan cleared his throat gruffly, tossing an anxious look out a nearby porthole. Corin noted that her stillness in sleep was not quite all that was worrying him.

"What's happened?" she inquired softly, touching a hand to his forearm. Stefan had adorned his glasses, a set of rectangular black frames that he only wore when it was required of him to read. The glare of Corin's bedside lamp reflected off of his glasses, shielding his eyes from Corin's searching gaze. His hair was rumpled, freed from its usual short ponytail meaning that he had been running his fingers through his hair.  
Stefan heaved a sigh, sprawling across her bed and nearly shunting her off the side. His lanky body forced him to lay at a crooked angle, as to not allow his toes to stick off the end of the bed. Stefan lay on his stomach, concealing his face in his arms, his broad shoulders abnormally tense.  
Corin's worries grew drastically at his odd behaviour. It appeared the typically aloof Stefan was seeking comfort. Corin lay a soothing hand upon his back, in exchange Stefan muttered something along the lines of, _"It's in my pocket."_  
Corin shot a look at his uniformed trousers and heaved a sigh, her hand dug into his rear pocket and extracted a crumpled sheet of parchment.

"_Read it,"_ he muttered into his arms. Corin unfolded the sheet, her eyes scanning the page:

**_'Addressed to, the ungrateful miscreant Stefan Aleksandr Vasil Nikolov  
Unknown Location, Somewhere in the Bottom of a Lake_**

**_The cleaning witch discovered your letters atop your pillow when she had went into your bedroom to change to bed linen, and you could not image your father's and my outrage at such a disrespectful, vile way to inform your own parents of your turncoat ways!'_**

The words were written in thick, angry red ink, which had bled through the page as if it were blood. Corin tossed Stefan's back a surprised expression, before ploughing on.

**_'Off to a distant, foreign-speaking country without informing both of us –and on top of such, you've decided, and I shall quote your fiendish letter, 'To escape the ancient and suppressive ways of a moneyed prison.' If you so decide that this household is not your own, you'll be relieved to find that you no longer carry obligations –nor any inheritance from it. Your older brothers may as well spit at your feet next they see you, and your sisters cry at your legs for your abandonment! I sincerely hope that you were shamed by your betrayal and you'll find that there will be no pity for you when you come crawling home._**

**_-Mother'_**

"_Shit,_" Corin cursed, rubbing at her suspiciously reddening eyes. "I can't believe your parents…"  
Stefan sat up, completing her sentence, "-Disowned me. It's not a huge deal," he shrugged, although his eyes were glistening with dampness. "I was already estranged from them to begin with, and I can always make my own money." He was trying to reassure himself, granted his brow was crumpled as if he were trying to supress tears.  
"My family is your family, Stefan." Corin sniffed, her eyes tearing up. Stefan looked down at her in surprise, "Why are _you_ crying?"  
"Because you're not!" Corin cried out, burrowing her face into her hands in an attempt to supress her sobs. Stefan's brow smoothed, a small smile curving up his lips. He chuckled lightly, and rapped her head with his knuckles. "_Idiot,"_ he chided her, with no malice behind his voice, "You've got so much empathy –don't cry for me, you'll just make yourself sick like Roman."  
"Shut up," Corin sniffled, wiping away the beading tears. "I'm trying to be nice!"  
Stefan laughed again, "I know, I know. Now quit, you idiot." He placed a comforting hand on her head, and ruffled her bedraggled hair.

* * *

Tears were long gone when the contestants gathered in the dormitory, returning from the 'pep-talk' that Corin had slept through, and Stefan had deftly avoided. The contestants adorned their most impressive furs and leathers, attempting to make themselves appear both notable and intimidating. Corin shrugged on her brown suede overcoat, buttoning it over her grey, sleeveless tunic, and fastened the thick leather belt around her abdomen.  
Corin felt a nudge on her shoulder, she glanced up and a scowl flitted over her face. Ivan grinned back toothily, and pushed a leather scabbard into her hand. Her brows raised in surprise; Corin noted that Ivan, as well as every other contestant, supported a scabbard with a blade sheathed in it. Curiously, Corin unsheathed the sword, finding from the weight and the sharpness of the blade that the artifact was genuine.  
"Thanks," she told Ivan, tying the scabbard to her belt. Ivan shrugged carelessly, his ever-lasting grin growing, "Shunting it in the faces of the other schools that we're all a team, y'know?"  
Corin nodded thoughtfully, watching Ivan's back as he returned to one of the portholes that a few others gathered around. Sword fighting was a mandatory class that Durmstrang students had to attend up until their sixth year –Corin was familiar with the weapon, although the skill would be regarded as useless in a fight with a fellow magical being as the blade could be disarmed as easily as a wand could.

Viktor approached her, standing beyond arm's length, looking distinctly stoic and brooding beneath his fur cap. He scrutinised her under a vigilant eye, when he deemed her as fit he nodded his approval and shuffled closer. He frowned at her loose tendrils of hair, and inquired, "Where is your pin?"  
"I have it here," she assured him, untucking it from her uniformed trouser pocket, and extending it toward him. Wordlessly, with a gloved hand, Viktor gathered her hair base of her head and stabbed the pin into the bundle. He grunted his approval when no loose strands of hair escaped. Viktor was utterly silent from then on; typically Viktor did not speak much, but his air of silence was much different than before, it held a more solemn atmosphere.  
"Are you feeling well?" Corin queried. Viktor merely grunted –his voice was much more gravelly than usual. Corin pressed a hand to his forehead. He felt abnormally cold, and his brow was clammy and thick with sweat –but he was shivering.  
"You've got a fever!" Corin exclaimed.  
"It is the musky air in this boat," he said, "Once we are outside I will be fine."  
Corin hesitated; when Corin was ill with a fever her father usual bundled her up in bed and made her drink lots of water to 'sweat it out.'  
"If you say so," Corin muttered, unconvinced.

The boat lurched suddenly –Corin had lost her balance, catching herself on a trunk that had fallen onto its side. The ship bobbed and rocked as it broke the surface of the water. The light of the setting sun filtered through the portholes, causing Corin to blink rapidly in order to adjust to the sudden light.  
"It is time!" Professor Lanister burst into the dormitory, looking positively beaming in his flaxen-coloured furs. Excitement coated his scarred face, and he hurried to shuffle the students up the wooden stairs to the Hold of the ship, where Karkaroff stood in wait at the hatch. His sour expression did not change until Professor Lanister opened the hatch, and Karkaroff emerged onto the Main Deck. One of his false grins worked its way across Karkaroff's face as he crossed the Main Deck, and down onto the bank of the lake.  
The students and Professor Lanister followed their Headmaster's lead, heading to the magnificently large castle ahead. Compared to Durmstrang Institute, Hogwarts Castle was much larger and far more welcoming. Warm yellow lighting lit up the castle, and torches seemed to lead the way to the grand set of doors where crowds of students and teachers waited for them.  
The Hogwarts grounds were much smaller than Durmstrang's, and the grass wasn't charmed purple like it had been in Corin's dream. Although she was unable to supress a grin when the Headmaster had to side-step a giggling pumpkin the size of a small horse.

"Dumbledore!" Karkaroff called out heartily, as he and his students ascended the slope to the castle, "How are you my dear fellow, how are you?"  
The man that Karkaroff had named as Dumbledore was exactly as how he was portrayed on his Chocolate Frog card. A tall man –although nothing compared to the height of Professor Lanister or Stefan, with a long silver beard that had been tucked into his belt. But unlike Headmaster Karkaroff, Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled with a genuine, friendly light.  
Corin took an immediate liking to this man, and found herself pausing and straining to hear the older man's response.

"Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff." Dumbledore replied. Karkaroff took both Dumbledore's hands and shook them with his own, his golden teeth glittering beneath the torch light.  
"Dear, old, Hogwarts," Karkaroff looked up at the castle, admiring the vastness. His students, who had paused behind their Headmaster followed his gaze upwards, muttering to themselves of the size. "Dumbledore, you've met my aide, Professor Calvin Lanister?"  
"Of course, it's a pleasure, Professor Lanister," Dumbledore took one of Professor Lanister's scarred hands and shook it liberally. Professor Lanister beamed, tittering excitedly. He stooped into a bow, so deep that the hood that Professor Lanister used to shadow his face, fell over his nose.  
Karkaroff tossed one last look at the castle, and beckoned his students, "Come along, Viktor," he called to the brooding man who lurked at Corin's heels. "Into the warmth … you don't mind Dumbledore? Viktor has a slight head cold…"  
Whispers and gasps rang out among the Hogwarts students as Viktor moved past the line of his fellow classmates. He ignored it, as per usual, rolling his eyes skywards.  
Corin ducked after him, Stefan at her side, and into the Entrance Hall after her Headmaster. She could feel eyes on her back, no doubt some of the students recognised her from the recent papers entailing her and Viktor's supposed 'relationship.'

_"This place is fucking huge,"_ Stefan uttered, earning some curious glances from the Hogwarts students who were unsure of Stefan's home tongue.  
"It is," Corin agreed, stepping into the Great Hall where four long tables stood, accompanied by the staff table where Head Master Karkaroff had seated himself on the right-hand side of Dumbledore. A gigantic woman, with hands larger than dustbins and a hooked nose approached the left-hand side of Dumbledore. Corin recognised the woman as the Headmistress of Beauxbatons, Madame Maxine. Her students, dressed in light blue silk uniforms jumped up from the far table that they were seated at –earning some laughter from the Hogwarts students, who were clearly unaware of typical school formalities. The Beauxbatons pupils did not seat themselves until their Headmistress had taken her seat.  
Corin, and her fellow candidates, hovered at the doorway, unsure where to seat themselves. Finally, with some muttering among the party –earning wild looks from nearby students who were unable to understand their foreign language –they seated themselves at a table which bared a silver snake.  
Seated happily in between Stefan and the Sixth Year girl Corin knew as Anika, Corin unhooked the belt from her suede overcoat, and shrugged it off.  
Some of those around her blatantly stared, open-mouthed, at her tattoo. Others did not seem to care, and merely gazed around at the Great Hall, intrigued by the welcoming atmosphere. Stefan nudged her, pointing up to the Staff Table. Corin could see that Headmaster Karkaroff was staring her down, his eyes glittering with malice. Tattoos were against the school dress code, although there were many who went against the code and allowed their tattoos be seen. Up until recently, Corin had been wearing long-sleeved shirts to conceal her tattoo, as to not cause outrage from her Headmaster. But now that they were a safe distance from the actual school, no punishment would come of it.

Corin found herself daringly meeting eyes with Karkaroff. He returned her gaze, his cold eyes narrowing in challenge. She glared back, setting her jaw and refusing to turn her stare. The competition lasted until all the students and teachers were seated, and in that time, the ring on Corin's finger had begun to writhe and struggle, heating up and searing with a deadly crimson colour. Corin could feel the intense heat on her finger, but oddly enough it did not feel unpleasant.  
Karkaroff had yet to tear his gaze from hers, narrowing his eyes further her leant forwards, settling his elbows onto the staff table. In the process his arm had skimmed his golden plate –the result left a red welt on his forearm and Karkaroff had jumped back from the table so terribly that he had upturned his chair.  
Corin grinned to herself, satisfied that she had won their contest, and turn her attention to Stefan who had been muttering to her in order to attract her attention.

"A little boy has been staring at you since our arrival," Stefan muttered in her ear. He reached across her with his lanky arm and pointed down the table, disguising it by straightening her cutlery. Corin followed his finger, and found herself meeting a vaguely familiar face. She hardly recognised him, because at the Quidditch World Cup he had shown no interest towards her –but now he was smirking over at her, whispering to the meaty boy who sat adjacent to him and pointing at her quite plainly. Corin stifled her snort, and turned her eyes back to Stefan.  
"That's the son of the wealthy Lucius Malfoy. I met him at the Top Box –although he didn't seem too keen on meeting me then."  
"You're popular in England," Stefan grumbled back, "what with those stupid gossip magazines spreading bullshit."  
"The looks I've been getting from some of the students here say that they believe those lies," Corin muttered, from the corner of her eye she spotted party of girls shooting her heated looks and whispering furiously to themselves. Grinning to herself, Corin made a show of unsheathing the sword at her side, and testing its sharpness. She shot another grin from the corner of her eye to the party, pleased to find that the girls had fallen silent in their whispering and possessed rather gloomy looks.

Corin sheathed the sword when a hush fell over the Great Hall, she as well as all the others turned their gazes to the Hogwarts Headmaster, who had spread his arms in welcome, as though to embrace the Hall and its entirety.  
"Good evening, ladies, gentlemen, ghosts and –most particularly –guests." Dumbledore's beaming expression fell over both of the foreign school's students. "I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable!"  
"The Tournament will be official opened at the end of the feast," said Dumbledore. "I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!"

Dumbledore turned and seated himself between Karkaroff and Madame Maxine. In the instance that he had sat, plates of food filled to the brim lined themselves down along the table. The Durmstrang students, who all were used to dining on mediocre, self-served food from tin trays all stared openly at the display. Ivan, who was not far from where Corin was seated, stole a turkey leg off the bird and gazed at it.  
"I'm never leaving this place," he bellowed, and lunged for the leg, tearing off all the meat in one passionate bite.  
Stefan gazed over the foods, admiration glinting in his dark eyes. "I think I'll agree with Ivan on that –they've even got some of our dishes. Although they look much more tasteful on golden platters."  
Indeed, in bowls that seemed to be bottomless, foods like _blodpalt_ –and entirely unappealing dish of dumplings made from rye and reindeer blood, looking rather similar to maggots squirming in their natural habitat –and _raggmunk,_ a fancy name for potato pancakes –stood at the end of the table.  
Corin avoided the dishes, and settled on eating mashed potatoes –that weren't grey like the ones at Durmstrang, and turkey that had more meat on their bones than Corin had ever seen.

* * *

At the end of the meal, Ivan's normally flat stomach was protruding much more than normal. So much so that he was unable to fasten the belt of his coat over his stomach.  
"If I were to die and see the great halls of Valhalla in this moment I would be more than satisfied for the great hero Helgi Hundingsbane to run me through."  
Corin snorted, patting the hilt of her sword, "I'd gladly do it in his place, if you'd like."  
"_Ha!"_ Ivan chortled, his thin lips parted in a grin and Corin could see a chunk of food in between two of his front teeth. "You'll have to win the Tournament and be destined a hero before I _ever_ let you beat me in a battle!"

"Oi, shut it!" Stefan hissed, jabbing his finger in the direction of the staff table. Dumbledore had risen once more, extending his arms and welcoming the hush that fell upon the Hall. Corin felt a thrill of excitement, and she leant forwards readily.  
"The moment has come," Dumbledore announced, smiling down at their eager faces. "The Triwizard Tournament is about to begin. But I'd like to say a few words before the casket is brought in."  
"Mr. Bagman, and Mr. Crouch have worked tirelessly over the months on the arrangements for the Triwizard Tournament," Dumbledore proceeded, "and they will be joining myself, Professor Karkaroff, and Madame Maxine on the panel of judges who are to review the Champion's prowess."  
Corin recognised Bartemius Crouch as the man who had failed to attend the World Cup, and leaving the British Prime Minister to be the butt of her Uncle's trickery. The other man, Ludos Bagman, a once famous Quidditch player, who was long since retired due to the many Bludgers to the head.  
Dumbledore beckoned the caretaker forwards, who hobbled towards the podium carrying an old wooden chest that was encrusted with jewels.  
"As you know," Dumbledore proceeded, "three Champions will compete, one representing each school. They will be marked on how well they perform in each of the three tasks that are to take place throughout the course of the year. The Champions will be chosen by an impartial selector… The Goblet of Fire."  
Dumbledore unearthed his wand from his impressive robes, and tapped the casket's lid thrice. The lid creaked slowly open. Dumbledore reached inside it, and pulled out a large, roughly carved wooden cup. It would be the sort of cup to go completely disregarded and thrown into the very back of the cupboard if it weren't for the blue-white flames which filled the cup, dancing along its brim magnificently –bright enough to light the entire Hall.

"Anyone wishing to submit themselves as a Champion must write their name and school clearly upon a slip of parchment, and drop it into the Goblet." Dumbledore announced, settling the cup gently onto the casket. "Any aspiring Champions have twenty-four hours to place their names into the Goblet."  
"And, to ensure that no underage student wishes to place their names into the cup, I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet. Nobody beneath the age of seventeen will be able to cross this line."

Angry murmurs filled the hall; Dumbledore raised his voice in order to be heard, "And finally, I shall wish that none of you take this event lightly. As there is no change of heart once you are chosen, and must see the Tournament to the end, whether it be successful or not so. –And now I think it is time for bed. Good night to you all!"

Stefan rapped his knuckles on the table, glowering at a few younger Hogwarts students. "It's a damn good thing that you've got an early birthday, Anita." He addressed the Sixth Year girl, "otherwise, your presence here would be entirely worthless."  
Anita scowled heartily, "Shut it. The only reason you're here is because you're just riding on your daddy's coattails!"  
"Like hell!" Stefan shot back, his dark brown eyes glittering with spite beneath their frames.

"Now, now, children," Karkaroff chided, swooping over them.  
Anita sniffed, and flicked her silvery blond hair in his face. Stefan glowered at Anita's back as she stood, and strode off to the other girls. Corin pressed her lips together, hiding her grin. It was rare to find a girl who didn't swoon over Stefan.  
"To the ship," Karkaroff was saying, hovering at Viktor's side, "Viktor, how are you feeling? Did you eat enough? Should I send for some mulled wine from the kitchens?"  
Viktor shook his head, tugging on his furs and securing his fur cap onto his head, shivering violently. Corin eyed him with concern, but said nothing, knowing that Viktor would refuse any aid.  
"I would like some wine, Headmaster," said Ivan, settling himself to stand at Corin's side, smiling hopefully. Somehow, Ivan had managed to fasten his belt around his bulging abdomen.  
Karkaroff's parental manner disappeared within an instant, and he snarled up at Ivan, "I wasn't offering it to _you_, Poliakoff. I notice that you dribbled food down the front of your tunic again, you disgusting child-"  
Karkaroff turned on the spot, stalking towards the door with his students at his tail, he reached the door at the exact same time as three other Hogwarts students. Ivan's downcast expression suddenly lit up, he nudged her and pointed quite openly to one of the students, a boy with shaggy black hair and circular frames.  
"Isn't that Harry Potter? - Holy hell, _look at his scar!"  
_"Ivan," Corin scolded, "don't, he gets enough people staring at him as it is."  
Ivan spared the boy one last glance, before he nodded solemnly. "'Suppose you're right…"

The Durmstrang students shuffled reluctantly out into the cold, led by their Headmaster. Ivan had caught Corin's arm, pulling her back to the end of the line that was stalking down the path from the doors. She gazed up at him curiously, suspicion clear on her face. But Ivan merely winked at her, his pace gradually reducing until the Durmstrang party had already boarded the ship.  
Assured that everyone was safely tucked away in the boat, Ivan dragged her to a less weeded portion of the lake front.

"What are we doing?" Corin demanded. In response, Ivan unsheathed the sword hanging from his belt. Grinning, he gave the sword a few test swings before brandishing the blade toward her.  
"No wands, just swords," he offered. At her look of reluctance, he sighed, "C'mon, I really need to work off that supper." Corin rolled her eyes skywards, but unsheathed her sword, "Fine. But if we get caught, I'm lobbing off your ear."  
"If you can," Ivan taunted, his grin re-emerged, and he lunged forwards with the moonlight shining off the blade of his sword.

* * *

**A.N. & Reviewer Response:**

**So uh, its been a while since I've added a new chapter. But this chapter has over five thousand words... so uh.. Yeah.**

_**hoove-print-on-your-heart**___**- Hello, again! I'm glad, one of my greatest fears as an fanfiction writer is not portraying a character correctly. The twins will be in the next chapter!**

**I do not own Harry Potter. Like, at all.**

**-AL**


	7. Chapter 7- Return of the Ginger

**Chapter Seven  
Return of the Ginger**

Corin woke to echoing roars of dragons. She waited for the smell of breakfast cooking to waft over her, and the noise of her mother's chiming voice, and her father's klutzy crashing and banging of pans and silverware. But instead she was met with the dusty, cobwebbed odor, and the sound of a creaking ship.  
The roars, she realised, was laughter. Loud, booming, obnoxious laughter.

Corin emerged from tangles of blankets and quilts, her expression a muddle of confusion and irritation. She felt a nearby presence, and her chin being lifted. Ivan's face came into focus, his lips puckered in a manner that was to kiss her. - Corin shoved away his face instantly, and snatched up her wand from her bedside table. "Flipendo!"  
Ivan was thrown backwards, striking the edge of a nearby bed and falling on it. Ivan roared with laughter alongside five others. "See, I told you she'd sooner rather hex me than let me kiss her!"  
"The hell are you on?" Corin demanded groggily, and angry blush working itself across her face. She untangled herself from her quilts and retied her hair into a ponytail. They stared at her sleep attire blatantly –Corin rolled her eyes skywards and pointed her wand at the group threateningly. They all adverted their eyes, excluding Ivan who merely chuckled and eyed her short pants and singlet. "You ought to ask our lupine Professor –he's got all the gossip."  
"Brilliant," Corin replied blandly. A small, dangerous smile curled her lips, she returned Ivan's gaze unblinkingly. Unnerved, Ivan broke his eye contact, and stared down at his feet. Satisfied, Corin snagged a clean set of uniformed pants, her boots, and a simple plaid button-up from her trunk, and ducked off to change.

* * *

She emerged onto the top deck, which was barren save for the one man Corin had set out to find. Professor Lanister had propped himself up against the mast, reading a magazine; he fought the chill of the late morning with thick fabrics. He looked worse for wear, black circles like craters beneath his eyes, and his skin a pallid colour. Corin knew that the full moon was tonight, and found herself pitying the man, as he would be unable to attend the ceremony this evening without running the risk of transforming and subsequently being attacked by frightened teachers and students.

"Professor," Corin greeted him. He gave a start, having not heard her emerge from below deck. When he saw it was her, he relaxed and gave her a weary smile. His scars seemed much more prominent against his paled skin –he seemed all too aware of this, as he had donned his darkest robe and hood in an attempt to further conceal his face.  
"Morning, kiddo," he greeted her, patting the square of deck beside him invitingly. Corin dropped down beside him, and heaved a sigh, brushing the loose strands of hair from her face.  
"Seems like you've forgotten about the sleepwear incident," Corin teased, grinning when a small blush fluttered across his face. Professor Lanister hid his face with his hands and groaned, "I feel like I've failed as a teacher… Being so _unprofessional."_  
Corin patted Professor Lanister's shoulder sympathetically. She knew the man was only disheartened due to his lunar cycle, and was quick to reassure him, "Don't worry about it, I won't be a student for much longer." Professor Lanister sighed, and gazed out towards the lake. Giant tentacles could be seen waving from the very pit of the lake, creating small waves that gently splashed against the side of the boat.  
"I don't understand you, Corin." Professor Lanister muttered without looking at her. "How you are is completely contradictory –cool and reserved, but utterly charismatic. Humble, yet you're always making big waves. - You're an entirely different person sometimes."  
"Speaking of big waves," Corin hinted. Professor Lanister managed a small laugh, "According to this piece of trash," he waved the magazine he had been reading earlier, "-you're apparently a bit of a floozy."  
"Am I?" Corin remarked with surprise. Professor Lanister spread open the magazine and read aloud:

**_"Civil Woman & Her Many Men_**

**_Corin Oblansk, niece to the Bulgarian Minister, and girlfriend of the famous Bulgarian Seeker, Viktor Krum, on the Eve of Hallowe'en was reported sneaking off with a fellow MALE student. Viktor Krum, at the time, was currently unwell and swept off to the Durmstrang ship, therefore unaware of his devious girlfriend's infidelity. The Durmstrang Institute is one of the three schools partaking in the quinquennial Triwizard Tournament (more on the Tournament on pg.78.) Corin Oblansk has yet to refute any allegations, and the probability of seeing other men. She was unable to comment at the time._**

**_Published by: Daily Dumps  
Edited and Produced by: Johan Albert"_**

"How did he even _know_ that," Corin muttered. At Professor Lanister's apparent shock, Corin hastened to explain, "You know well enough that I'm not interested in anyone –but I did sneak off. But the only thing we did was fight. I swear."  
"Fight how?" Professor Lanister's brows furrowed, but he seemed to believe her. Corin grinned sheepishly, "With swords –I mean, just to work off all the food we ate."  
Professor Lanister's face broke out into a smile, "Yeah, okay. I didn't believe the magazine in the first place."  
Professor Lanister tore the magazine in two, crumpling them into balls and igniting them with a wave of his wand. Corin watched as the paper blackened, catching fire and shrivelled up into smoking ashes. At ease, knowing at least _one_ person knew the truth.

* * *

**_Corin Oblansk  
Durmstrang Institute._**

Corin returned the quill to a helpful Hogwarts student, muttering her thanks, she folded the torn sheet of parchment. She progressed into the Great Hall, ignoring the eyes that stared at her from all angles, she approached the Goblet of Fire. The Goblet was still placed atop its casket, the flames as bright as ever –although a ring of what looked to be white fire enclosed the Goblet in a perfect circle. Corin knew that this must be the age-line, and felt confident when she strode through it.  
Excitement coiled up in her stomach as she reached upwards to place her name into the Goblet. As the parchment slipped through her fingers, her ring had begun to thrash and twist, the bloodstone flared with colour. Corin jerked back her hand, but the flames had lashed up and consumed the slip of parchment between her fingers and licked her fingers. She held her burnt fingers to her chest, and warily stepped away from the goblet. She pressed her lips together, and strode from the Great Hall. Worry plagued her, weighing down each stride she made through the stone corridor. The ring continued to thrash and twist on her finger –it was hissing, _at what_ Corin was unsure. Its hiss was high-pitched, almost like the whistle of a kettle.  
Corin's striking grey eyes flashed around the hallway with concern –but other than the typical curious looks she received, no one seemed to notice her animated ring. To which she was curious –her mother did say that there were centuries of enchantments, but there were many talented witches and wizards here –_surely someone noticed it._

Corin tore her gaze from the ring, staring up at the air in confusion as a cackling fluttered right by her ear. She nearly shrieked as a flash of sudden colour streaked past her ear, followed by cackling and the odd sensation of liquid trickling down her scalp. Corin rubbed the liquid from her eyes, finding that the substance was ink.  
The _thing_ that floated just above eye-level could only be described as the embodiment of disorder. Dressed in loud and outlandish clothing, with a bell-covered hat, a stout little man pirouetted and spun –twisting his not-quite ghost-like body in grotesque shapes. Corin easily identified the _thing_ as the textbook definition of a poltergeist and acted accordingly.  
With speed unlike any other, Corin whipped out the wand residing in her back pocket and flourished it towards him with a stern, "_Alarte Ascendare!"  
_The poltergeist was shot up into the air, and sent crashing into the high swinging chandler. With an echoing crash, a few crystals which emblazed the chandler fell and shattered once hitting the floor. The poltergeist cursed and swore, zooming off while spouting an exponentially large shard of crystal through his foot.

"_Merlin's saggy left testi-!_ Blimey did he get you too?" Corin swivelled on the spot, her lips parting in surprise at the familiar voice.  
"George Weasley?" Corin exclaimed with surprise, "or, er, is it Fred?"  
"Er- George, but who are you?"  
Corin stared blankly at him for a moment –she chuckled to herself, and swiped a hand across her face, messily clearing the ink that shielded her features. His face lit up with recognition, "Corin! –You look so much different in your uniform." Corin shrugged carelessly, grinning, "Suppose so, I guess I don't really stand out much, do I?"  
George playfully flicked her pointed nose, "It was the ink; so Peeves got you too, eh?"  
"Peeves?" Corin repeated, furrowing her brows, "You've got a name for him?"  
"Yeah, he's been in the castle for ages. Second best troublemaker in the school."  
A brief, amused grin flashed across her face. "And I'll assume that you're tied for first with Fred –where is he anyhow? Even when you're swooning over a Veela you didn't separate."  
Quite unembarrassed, George merely sheepishly chuckled and scratched the base of his neck. "He's still in the infirmary." At her look of concern he hastened to explain, "We tried to put our names in the Goblet of Fire but it ended up spitting us out and making a bit hairier than we would've like. Although frankly," he rubbed his chin, "I think I look much more dashing clean-shaven –nothing on Dumbledore of course."  
"Ah, you young'uns," Corin shook her head, supressing a laugh, "I just finished putting my name in the Goblet –I didn't know it was so temperamental, the damn thing burned me." She showed off her blistered fingers to George, "and I guess I got distracted and lost my way."  
"I can take you back to the Durmstrang ship," George offered kindly, "so long as you can manage a spell to clean us off –I tried it, but it just didn't work." George gave his wand a feeble wave, and the ink speckles hovered an inch from his skin before spattering against him once more.  
Corin nodded her head knowingly, "Durmstrang doesn't really teach household spells –but, my dad taught me this one –hold on-"  
Corin pointed her wand at him and pronounced, _"Scourgify."_  
The ink spots disappeared from his face –but the ink on his clothing remained. Corin shrugged helplessly, pointing the wand at herself and repeated the incantation.  
"I don't suppose you could get rid of the stuff on my clothes without vanishing them, could you?" George remarked, pulling the collar of his t-shirt away from his neck. Corin hid a grin, "I wouldn't risk it, honestly."  
"Worth a try," George shrugged, "I'll take you through a shortcut to get to the courtyard."  
"Shortcut?" Corin repeated, following after him curiously. "It wouldn't surprise me –Hogwarts is so much bigger than Durmstrang, although our grounds are far vaster."  
George led her down the stairwell, and to a set of spiralling stairs. They followed the curve of the stairs, twisting and winding down for what seemed an eternity until they found themselves in a large room. With patterned floors, and suits of armour, the room seemed to fit for a ball.  
"Watch this," George grinned. He took a handful of the nearby drapery and pulled it to the side revealing a blank wall. Corin looked at him, her brows furrowed in confusion. At this, George's grin grew, and he pulled the drapery back in place. "Open the visor on that suit of armour, would you?" George gestured to the nearby display.  
Corin complied, lifting the helm's visor –she half expected to see a set of eyes hidden in the darkness of the helm, but was met only with a dusty cobweb.  
"And now you see it!" George yanked back the drapery. The blank wall was entirely the same, save for a rectangular outline that seemed carved into the wallpaper.  
"A door." Corin remarked, visibly impressed. George beamed at her, sliding his fingers along one of the edges, catching the handle and opening the door to reveal a musty, narrow wooden staircase leading downwards, poorly lightened by a few spare bulbs.  
"After you, my lady." George extended his arm, bowing mockingly. Corin was unable to hide her grin, bowing back she replied jokingly, "Why thank you, kind sir."  
She started on the stairs, careful to hold onto the railing as George shut the door behind them, making the stairwell much darker than it had been.  
_"Lumos,"_ Corin brandished her wand, lighting up the stairwell. George followed her action, "Good call."  
The stairs had ended, leaving the pair to follow an uneven upwards slope. "The exit should be –there it is! Pardon me-." George pressed past her awkwardly, although with the narrow hall it was inevitable that Corin found her nose brushing his as he attempted to pass her. George grinned awkwardly, and hurried by. They had come to the end of the path, where a shoddy stepladder pointed upwards. George climbed it, nearly knocking his head on the trapdoor above. He pushed it open and poked his head out for a few seconds before he beckoned her to follow. Corin followed his lead, cringing with every creak that the ladder made.  
The trapdoor was hidden in a thicket of shrubbery a meter from the lake. When she emerged, George closed the trapdoor quickly behind her, kicking some dirt over the door to disguise it. With an eye watching for any witnesses, George and Corin ducked from the shrubbery, masquerading as taking a walk along the shoreline of the lake.

"That was brilliant," Corin told him enthusiastically, unable to hide her excitement. She beamed at him, and George grinned back, "I'd be happy to show you some other tricks later, if you'd like-"  
"_CORIN!"_ A shout brought their attention; Stefan jogged up to the pair, his breath coming out in short pants. Stefan's eyes glittered with recognition at George's face, but George was easily ignored.  
"Corin," Stefan repeated in a less agitated voice. "Where the _hell_ have you been? - And what's with the ink?-"He shook his head, "Professor Lanister is going ballistic, and ordering everyone to look for you. –He wouldn't tell us why."  
"I just saw him nearly half an hour ago," Corin muttered back, her smile sliding from her face, her brows furrowed with concern.  
George watched the exchange, confusion plain against his freckled face. Obviously he had not learned any Romanian from Charlie, and was unsure what the problem was. Corin turned back to George, and attempted a reassuring expression, "I've got to head back to the ship, thank you for your help."  
"Not a problem," George grinned, "I'll see you at supper tonight, yeah?"  
"Absolutely," Corin responded, wrinkling her nose when he flicked it. Stefan cleared his throat pointedly, and Corin bid the boy farewell.

Corin and Stefan made their way back to the ship, an unusual silence between them. Revealing the presence of secret doorways and staircases was bubbling on her lips, but Corin held back. They were secrets for a reason, and Corin was unsure how George would react if he learned that Corin had given up the secret.  
"So," Stefan began hesitantly –Corin looked up at him in shock. Stefan was the epitome of confidence, and his brooding mannerisms were evident of that. Stefan turned his eyes away from her, running his fingers through his hair, pulling out the tie that held his short ponytail. "Do you have a- er- thing for gingers?"  
Corin stared at him, unbelieving for a full second before she snorted, shoving his arm, "Piss off."  
Stefan's laughter echoed all the way back to the ship.

* * *

Professor Lanister was found pacing their dormitory when Corin and Stefan returned. The second Professor Lanister spotted Corin, he flung himself onto her whilst howling an awful tune.  
"P-Professor!" Corin stuttered, pulling back her head enough so she could see Professor Lanister's distraught expression. His blue eyes were large with beading tears, and his face had gone rather pink from supressing the urge to cry.

"This is terrible!" Professor Lanister howled, burrowing his face into Corin's plaid button-up. Corin shot a bewildered look to Stefan over Professor Lanister's hunched frame. Stefan shrugged back, appearing unconcerned by Professor Lanister's typical flamboyant personality. Corin patted Professor Lanister's slouched back comfortingly, "What is it, Professor?"  
Professor Lanister snivelled, drawing his face up so that he and Corin's foreheads were rested against each other. In a distraught whisper, he replied, "You've got a letter."  
"And?" Corin pressed on.  
"I couldn't help myself, with the insignia and –and what with that stupid's birds smug look –and -!"  
"Spit it out, damn it!" Stefan barked irritably. Professor Lanister gave a great sniff, and drew up to his full height. He reached into the sleeve of his powder-blue robes, and drew out a crumpled, formal looking letter.  
"Y-You could die here!" Professor Lanister howled, thrusting the letter into Corin hands. Corin took it, utterly bewildered.

**_'Addressed to, Corin Oblansk  
The Black Lake, Hogwarts, Durmstrang Ship_**

**_It has come to my attention, via your mother's timely letters and the attention of the media that you have chosen to attend the Triwizard Tournament that is to take place at Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. First and foremost, I must congratulate you. Well done, Corin, I hope that you do well in this experience. Secondly, I shall inform you that there have been a series of disappearances of Ministry Officials, leading to the very viable prospect that there is darkness afoot. And the appearance of Death Eaters at the Quidditch World Cup only adds to my suspicions. With this knowledge in mind, I have sent you a letter to inform you that due to your family name and our constant presence concerning Dark matters you are at threat to injury, and ultimately death. Although I am confident that you are a capable witch, I fear that your most esteemed Headmaster will abuse this tournament and subject you to tasks that could lead to a warranted and excusable death. I'll advise you, if you have not already, do not place your name in the Goblet of Fire. If you are not chosen, I shall encourage you to aid any unfortunate soul in the completion of the three tasks and pray that their poor souls escape the feasible likelihood of an unseasoned end.  
Watch your back, and remember your friends._**

**_-Uncle.'_**

Corin reread the letter aloud to Stefan, who rose his thick brows in surprise, "A warranted and excusable death?" he repeated. Corin carefully smoothed the creases of the paper that Professor Lanister had caused from clutching it, and replied quietly, "I don't have any other relatives other than my Uncle and my parents, because they were all killed in the last war while fighting. I was just a baby then, so I don't remember any of them. But my Uncle told me that my family made it really difficult for the Death Eaters. After the war, my Uncle helped sentence a lot of them to Azkaban –and if things are getting bad again…"  
Corin shook her head, clearing the dark images that fluttered through her head. "Then I imagine a lot of people will be out for revenge."  
Stefan snorted, looking far from concerned. "Well I could have told you that. –Professor Lanister, _can you not bawl into my pillow?"_  
Professor Lanister retracted his head from the pillow he was clutching, and made a face. He muttered something along the lines of 'smelling bad anyway,' and sat himself next to Corin. Corin gave the man a comforting smile, and offered him a tissue, plucked from the box of a nearby bedside table. Professor Lanister took it gratefully, mopping up his face.  
"I'm sorry," Professor Lanister told her in a thick voice, looking miserable.  
"I'm glad you read it," Corin touched his hand, "you've got a right to know just as much as I do. 'Remember your friends,' and we're friends, aren't we?"  
Professor Lanister regarded her for a moment with a leveled look. "Oh… Kiddo...-"He broke out into tears again, howling and clutching her to him. Corin rolled her eyes skywards, and patted his back again. _Goddamn moon._

* * *

Alongside the rest of the Durmstrang candidates, Corin and Stefan made their way to the Hogwarts Castle. Both felt rather gloomy and disheartened with the new found knowledge and the hour it took to stop Professor Lanister from crying.  
Corin's mood worsened as she stepped into the Great Hall, where a wild and excited air filled the area. Although she managed a small smile and wave when she spotted George seated alongside his brother. Corin took her place beside Viktor and Stefan, unable to share in the boisterous whispering about who was to be chosen.  
The feast progressed on, and even the quality meal wasn't enough to brightened Corin's mood. And when their golden plates were scraped clean, Dumbledore finally stood and addressed the Great Hall with open arms.

The Goblet of Fire had been moved to sit atop a tall stand. Dumbledore swept towards it, examining the fire through his circular frames.  
"I suspect about a minute remains until the Goblet has made its decision," said Dumbledore. "And when the Champions' names are called, I would ask them to please enter the chamber adjacent to the Staff Table." He gestured to a door on the far left of the Great Hall.  
Dumbledore took out his wand, and made a great, sweeping motion. The candles that were dotted around the room, hovering in the magically crafted sky and inside pumpkins where extinguished, leaving the Great Hall in semi-darkness. The Goblet of Fire now shone brighter than anything in the hall, its blue-white flames sent a very painful throb of reminder to Corin's blistered fingertips.  
Stefan, seated on her right, shifted in his seat, unable to contain himself. He was in a remarkably better mood than Corin, therefore more easily effected by the excitement in the air. In the hour it took to calm Professor Lanister down, Stefan had spent most of that time brewing up the Wolfsbane potion Professor Lanister needed to take, while Corin's shirt had been drenched in the Professor's tears.

"Any second now…"  
The flames inside the Goblet of Fire suddenly turned red. Sparks of fire began to fly, and those nearest the Goblet leant back from it to avoid being singed. In the next moment, a tongue of fire licked the ceiling, and a charred piece of parchment fluttered down. Dumbledore stretched out a long hand and collected the piece of parchment –the whole room seemed to take a collective breath.  
"The Champion of Durmstrang," Dumbledore announced in an echoing, strong voice. Corin couldn't refuse the tiny spark of excitement that flew up in the pit of her stomach- "will be Viktor Krum!"

The excitement in her stomach became stone, and a jealous weight was suddenly pushing at everything Corin had eaten during the feast. She pressed her lips together, and managed to applaud alongside the roars of applause and cheers.  
"Well done, Viktor!" Headmaster Karkaroff shouted, well over the noise. Viktor stood from his seat left of Corin, and slouched off to the door next to the staff table. The clapping and cheers died down. The flames inside the Goblet of Fire had gone red again. Seconds later, another piece of paper was spat out by the Goblet. Dumbledore caught it, extending it arm's length away to read it by the Goblet's flames.  
"The Champion for Beauxbatons," said Dumbledore, "is Fleur Delacour!"

An attractive blonde woman who was seated furthest from their table rose gracefully. Her silvery-blonde hair shone behind her as she disappeared into the adjacent chamber. Stefan bent, muttering in Corin's ear, "Some sort of Veela, maybe?"  
"Probably in her blood," Corin muttered back, eyeing the other Beauxbatons students. Some of which were so disappointed that they had not been chosen that they had dissolved into tears.

The Goblet of Fire had turned red yet again, and a third tongue of fire shot from it. Dumbledore caught the third slip of parchment and read aloud, "The Hogwarts Champion –is Cedric Diggory!"  
The following applause was outstanding. The table from which the newest Champion had jumped up from had all risen to their feet in roars, stamping their feet and screaming. The round of applause for the Hogwarts Champion went on so long that it was a time before Dumbledore was able to speak again.  
"Excellent," Dumbledore called happily when he was able to be heard again. "Well, we now have our three Champions. I am sure that I can count upon you all to give your Champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on-"  
Dumbledore had suddenly fallen silent, and it was apparent what had distracted him. The Goblet of Fire had shot up another slip of parchment into the air. Dumbledore seized the parchment, and held it out, staring at the name of the parchment long and hard. There was a long pause, in which everyone stared at the fourth slip of parchment. Dumbledore cleared his throat, and read aloud the name, _"Harry Potter."_

There was no applause. All eyes fell upon the dark-haired boy, who seemed to be staring, disbelieving into thin air. An angry, sort of buzz filled the Great Hall. Once again, Dumbledore called the boy's name, "Harry Potter, up here, if you'd please."  
He sat there for a moment longer until the girl seated beside him shoved him up. He stumbled on the hem of his robe, and made his way up to the Staff Table. Corin felt a sick, sort of raw feeling in her throat. - The ring on her finger seemed to come alive, and writhed angrilly.

It was only a moment longer until the students were sent back to their dormitories. All of the Professors, including Headmaster Karkaroff had vanished into the adjacent chamber.  
Stefan and Corin worked their way down to the ship with the other Durmstrang students. She and Stefan ignored their celebratory howls, and bowed their heads together, whispering feverishly.  
"I _knew_ there was something wrong with that Goblet," Corin muttered, touching the ring on her finger. She considered whether or not to tell Stefan of the ring, but decided against it. Instead she showed him her burnt fingertips, "The damn thing burned me when I put my name in."  
Stefan took her hand, frowning at the burns. He took out his wand, and pressed the tip to her fingers and muttered, _"Episkey."_  
The blistered skin seemed to heal, turning a soft, pinkish shade. Satisfied, Stefan hid his wand in his sleeve, muttering back, "It wasn't the kid who fucked around with the Goblet –he looked like he was going to shit himself when the old man called out his name."  
"Do you think Karkaroff-"  
"No," Stefan interrupted her, shaking his head sternly, "He looked too pissed for words. Why bother giving Hogwarts a second chance at the game anyway?"  
"Yeah, you're right," Corin muttered, abruptly falling silent upon boarding the ship. It appeared that the fourth name had not effected the other Durmstrang students, who were already unearthing hidden snacks and drinks, intent on celebrating Viktor's championship.  
Stefan cleared his throat, attempting to hide his excited expression, "Well, I'm not one to put a damper on a party…"  
"Go ahead," Corin sighed, a small smile curving her lips. She shoved him towards the others before making her way silently back to her bed. She rooted around in her trunk that lay beneath her bed.  
The volume of cheers had risen as Viktor returned to the ship, and the man was begrudgingly swept up in the excitement. Corin unearthed the purse she had taken to the Quidditch World Cup, and stood. She bit back her jealousy, and approached Viktor. He eyed her as she extended a hand towards him, touching his arm. She offered a smile, ignoring the others around her.  
"Congratulations, Viktor." She stood on her toes, and brushed her lips against his cheek. She smiled yet again as he looked at her in utter bewilderment, his brows furrowing in confusion.

She turned on her heel, leaving the party in favor of the lower deck. But the noise was not quite gone, she took to the great metal door which led to the vault of the ship. She unlocked the door, sealing it behind her as she took to the steps which led her further into the ship's depths.  
At the base of the stairs a cauldron lay, upturned. It was the same cauldron Stefan had used to brew the Wolfsbane potion. Unperturbed, Corin stepped over the shredded clothes and approached the king-sized futon. A large ball of fur laid curled up on the futon, visible only from the moonlight streaming through the single porthole. The futon was pushed against the far wall, against the dusty, wooden floor.  
A low whimper emerged from the beast as it raised its head, and its lips pulled back in a low snarl, revealing its many sharp teeth. "Just me," Corin sighed. Another whimper came from the beast and the snarling receded.  
"Okay, Professor Lanister?" Corin asked, dropping onto the futon next to the beast. In response, the werewolf let out a quiet whine, and lay its large, wolf-like head onto his paws. Professor Lanister blinked his almost human-like blue eyes up at her in question.  
"It was Viktor," Corin informed him. Professor Lanister whined again, burrowing his snout into the flaxen fur of his body. "I know," Corin agreed, "I'm worried too –and a fourth Champion was chosen. Harry Potter. - That kid in those books."  
Professor Lanister's bulbous eyes snapped wide open, looking at her almost dubiously. Corin ignored the beast's look of shock, and dug into her purse. "I wouldn't believe me either, if I hadn't been there," she told him, "must've been some really dark magic –_there it is."_  
She retracted a bottle cloaked in a silk, carmine red shoulder wrap. She unravelled the shoulder wrap, and tossed it over Professor Lanister like a blanket. Corin popped the cork on the bottle, and took a swig, cringing at the sharp taste. Professor Lanister eyed her, growling in the pit of his throat. Corin didn't look at him, instead, her piercing grey eyes watched the full moon reflected against the water. "I made a promise," she told him quietly.  
To the empty room, she extended the bottle upwards in a toast-like fashion, "To the final night of safety."

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**A.N. & Reviewer Response:**

**Fairly long chapter this time, well over five thousand words. What'd you think of the chapter?**

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_**hoove-print-on-your-heart-**_**Thank you so much! It's reassuring to hear you say that. Another chapter is on its way!**

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**I do not own Harry Potter.**

**-AL**


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